The Unholy Family
by Kiiriminna
Summary: Crowley (from Supernatural) is the son of Anthony J. Crowley (from good Omens). These are short scenarios considering the life of two demons, one bibliophile angel and some very confused hunters. Now completed, will be continued in the next installation of the series: The Supernatural Family, which is sequel both to this and and my other story, Angelic Family.
1. Home Is Where Your Family Is

"…thanks for your call. Unfortunately, I cannot / don't want / are not interested to answer right now, pick your favorite. You can leave a message after the scream. Kisses~!"

Dean snarled with rage and threw the cell on the ground.

"You still have no luck at contacting Crowley?" Sam asked from the table, where he frantically keyed the computer.

"NO! I swear that if I have to hear his voice message once more, so help me God I'll-!"

Bobby raised his head in books and shot an annoyed look to the older Winchester. "Should I remind you that it's exactly _the God_ that's our problem here? Is it already time to stop this preciosity and simply summon him up here? Idjit."

"And then listen to his whining again? No thanks."

Sam sighed heavily. "Dean, we're running out of time. We need this spell, and we don't know anyone other than Crowley whom we can even expect to know it."

"I know!" Dean snarled, and then continued more calmly as Sam looked at him disapproving. "I know Sam. I'm just… disgusted even by the idea of begging for favors from that smirking son of b-"

Bobby smiled. "So are all of us, boy. However, in this case, there are human lives at risk, so we have better just swallow our pride and let the clown snark at us for a few minutes." He stood up and stretched his aching muscles a little. "Draw the demon trap ready, I'll get the necessary materials."

* * *

In less than fifteen minutes the three hunters got everything ready for summoning Crowley. Bobby started spelling, and brothers stood by his side, demon knives in their hands just in case; with Crowley you could never be quite sure…

Crowley appeared inside demon trap as impeccably dressed as always, but in his hand he had a delicate, porcelain teacup, with blue flowers painted on its rim. He looked a little surprised at first, but the expression quickly turned into a furious one when he realized just who had dared to call him.

"This can't be happening!" Crowley snarled. "Can't I take even one day off without you Winchesters starting an apocalypse or something, can I?!"

Dean chuckled. "Cute cup. Were you playing tea parties?"

Crowley glared daggers at him. "None of your business. Best that you open this trap – RIGHT NOW - and I MAY forget that this ever happened."

Sam smiled grimly. "No way, Crowley. We have got a job for you. You will help us to clean up a little mess that you started."

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Your talking about Castiel's new groove? Surprise, surprise… Well, as happy as I always am to help you out of your own messes, I'm. At. Vacation. That is, not today, moose. Now, open this Trap, RIGHT NOW. Thank you."

Dean grinned. "Yeah, no. Now how about behaving as a good little King of Damned and do what we command."

"Are you all deaf?! I said that I'm HAVING A DAY OFF. Let's return to your problem at tomorrow, the usual office time."

The brothers opened their mouths to argue back, but then Bobby stepped forward. "Crowley, we need only one spell. Then you can go back to… whatever it was you were doing anyway."

Crowley let out a loud groan somewhere between and roar. "Why is it always the same thing with you people? Do not I get even a moment of private time? But no! Either the Winchesters go and put up yet another apocalypse, or their pet-angel goes and becomes new God! And all of you just want to make me your errand boy! I'm KING! What's next? Bobby here decides to become president, or something…?"

Bobby frowned. Crowley had never been particularly skilled at co-operation – at least if there wasn't an clear advantage for himself in it - but this time the demon seemed really frustrated. It made him feel little guilty, which in turn made him feel very stupid. He cleared his throat a little bit in order to draw the demon's attention back at him. "Crowley. Search this spell for us, and I promise we won't come and bother you again about your little scheming's with Castiel. Heck, I can promise that you won't need to hear about us again in – let's say, a month. I can even tie these to morons into their chairs to make sure about that." Bobby left the brothers loud objections out of account and focused instead to stare Crowley straight in the eyes. "I'm being serious here, Crowley. Just a little favor, and you do not need to see any of us for at lest a month."

For Bobby's relief Crowley seemed to genuinely think about his offer. Then the demon grinned. "None of you? Oh, Robert, you know very well I wouldn't classify you at the same group among these two monkeys," Crowley said smoothly and winked playfully his eye at the older hunter.

Bobby coughed a little to hide his momentary confusion, and hoped that he hadn't flushed. He knew that for Crowley, the flirting came as natural as breathing for most mortals, but it didn't stop him from feeling a small shiver of pleasure every time when Crowley let him understand that he considered him at least somewhat appealing. The aging man did not often come around moments like that.

"Agreed, then?" he asked.

"Are we going to seal that with a kiss?" Crowley suggested in turn, being again the smugly bastard whom they all well knew and loved to hate. Bobby shook his head with amusement and scratched a small gap on the devil trap with his shoe.

Crowley smiled. "So then, about this spell…"

They told him, and it was clear that Crowley didn't like it at all…

* * *

It didn't take long from Crowley to disappear and appear again, this time with the parchments, which he gave to Bobby without his usual snide comments. "This should be what you are looking for; the spell for binding the Death. I Still think that you're all crazy for even wanting to try this, but… Well, it's your funeral." Well, make that _almost_ without snide comments.

Bobby rolled the scroll open and Sam leaned over his shoulder to examine it with interest. Dean sent Crowley a look that promised several consequences if the spell wouldn't work, but the king of Hell passed him with a complacent smile. He picked up his teacup from Bobby's desk, having left it there after warning them that it was really old and really fragile and that the sanctions could follow if there happened to be any accidental breakdowns… and they would find those sanctions being both long-term and very painful.

"If you had nothing else…" Crowley started tersely.

Bobby looked up from the parchment and frowned. "Were you not supposed to be gone already?"

Crowley sighed with feigned frustration. "Not an ounce of gratitude!"

"Be grateful that we haven't threw any holy water at your face, bastard", Dean growled. Crowley threw a murderous glance at him before turning back to Bobby.

"Just remember our agreement, then!"

Bobby waved his hand at him without even bothering to raise his eyes from the parchment. "Yeah yeah. Get going about it, princess. "

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Not even an ounce of gratitude," he repeated, and was gone.

* * *

"Oh, you're back! You got us really worried here, disappearing just like that!"

Crowley sighed and set his teacup on a table, taking up a chair for himself. The person who was sitting opposite of him at the table flashed an understanding smile while his partner continued to fuss.

"Well, I have to say I'm pleased you returned the cup intact! I probably would never find another… At the auctions you would have to pay a small fortune for those even in poor condition… And in addition, they were a gift - the value of feeling, you know…" The blond man who looked like a librarian and sounded very British without being any of the above, gazed Crowley's companion with adoring eyes. The person in question - who for some reason was wearing sunglasses while indoors - seemed to be embarrassed, which in turn drove Crowley to chuckle. Man-shaped person who was wearing the sunglasses - let's call him Anthony – threw Crowley a look, which probably would have been disapproving, had he been able to see it.

"You were summoned, right?" Anthony asked.

Crowley shrugged. "Winchesters needed something again… The two don't know how to tie their shoelaces without someone either dying, or losing their mind, or starting a new apocalypse as a result."

Anthony laughed, but his partner seemed to be little disapproving. "That really was not very kindly said, Fergus - and Anthony dear, stop laughing, you're only encouraging him!"

"But you have to admit that that was an apt description, angel!" Anthony pointed out and took off his sunglasses to wipe the tears of laughter from his eyes. His eyes were golden yellow and their pupils were vertical like those of a reptile.

Blond man straightened his shoulders. "I do not in any case have to do anything of the sort!" he declared.

"Oh, Aziraphale, do not be so humorless!" Anthony whined and gave the best imitation puppy-dog look of what he could muster. There were precisely two persons in the whole world it would have had any affect, but fortunately one of those people happened to be in the room, so Aziraphale just smiled kindly and patted his hand in a sign of reconciliation.

"Let bygones be bygones… But you really should show a better example for your son!"

Anthony looked surprised. "But I am! Fergus has grown up to be quite an exemplary demon!"

Aziraphale smiled at him lovingly. "Of course, my dear… Does anyone want more tea?"

Crowley leaned back in his chair and relaxed while watching his father and his angel friend /boyfriend. What would have happened, had he not once in Scotland, while already hearing the distant barking of the helhounds, fallen on his knees and made his first and last prayer? Instead of an angel – who was busy at somewhere else – his prayer had been answered by his fill-in, demon who had not so much fallen but sauntered vaguely downwards, and he had instantly recognized Crowley, back then known as Fergus McLeod, as his own flesh and blood. What followed were screaming and angsting and plenty of other stuff that would have left Winchesters in shame, but afterwards he was pleased with the way things had sorted out - Anthony J. Crowley was the best father what Fergus McLeod could have hoped, and many times better than what he knew he deserved.

Sometimes Crowley felt the bitterness grasping him at the thought of how a different kind of life he might have headed had his mother not been hiding his existence from his father; surely the witch would had known how to contact Anthony, or at least Rowena could had told her son the truth before abandoning him at the tender age of eight. Feeling little guilty, he wondered whether he would had been a better father, if he himself had felt his father's guidance and affection, even love…? Maybe then Gavin's life would have been easier… well, if the boy had still been born.

However, thinking about it was in vain; it was the best just keep going and hang on the happiness he had found with tooth and nail. This small bookstore in Soho was Crowley's safe haven, the place where he was always welcome, and this small slice of a lost paradise he was ready to protect to the ends of the world and beyond.

After all, he was his father's son; preventing Apocalypses was like a family tradition.


	2. What Happens During Winter Solstice

_Scotland, 1660 A.D. - Winter solstice_

Crowley did not remember when he had last time been this drunk - though right now he had a trouble remembering even his own name, so it might not been so surprising. The beer was bad, but there was lot of it, and its taste improved significantly as long as he still remembered to assume that the liquid in his cup was something completely different, mainly good wine.

Crowley didn't actually enjoy participate in the Witch Sabbath, and he was sure that Hastur knew it when he proposed Crowley as the supervisor of the winter solstice bacchanal. Duke of Hell was clearly not yet forgiven the way Crowley had once portrayed him being sadly old-fashioned and petty.

Crowley glanced at towards bonfires, and shuddered in disgust at the sight of naked figures reflected against the glow of fire as they continued their lascivious dance. While Crowley wasn't completely stranger in what came to sex – he had once briefly tried out all of the seven deadly sins – he had quickly came to the conclusion that lust wasn't his cup of tea; it was a little too intimate, you had to let the other one bit too close…

 _Of course, if it was with someone who you know_ , Crowley's drunken mind recalled, and for a moment somewhere emerged the memory of gentle face, whose expression was compassionate even while disapproving, and _don't you think it's time to clear your head already, my dear_ , and _wouldn't cup of tea sound just delightful right now_ , and _you absolutely have to read this book, it is the most exquisite..._

Crowley shook his head and gulp down more beer to banish such of thoughts. _Impossible_ , he thought, _it's not even worth of thinking about._

"Why so sad expression on your face, my friend?"

Crowley turned his head and hissed in pain caused by movement. His eyes were so fuzzy that he could hardly see the face of person standing in front of him - a woman, at least judging by the vote - but he could point out her curly, red hair.

"No one should have to sit alone in the winter solstice," she went on and sat down next to Crowley.

"Ah," Crowley answered smartly.

"Wouldn't you share some of your worries, stranger?" she asked with sweet voice and placed his hand over Crowley's arm, stroking it softly.

"Huh?" Crowley replied, raising his cup, which, however, was empty for some incomprehensible reason.

"Allow me", the woman whispered against his ear and pushed her own cup towards Crowley. He took a healthy sip, only passingly noticing the strange, almost sweet tinge of the drink, before his brain, numb by alcohol, told him to stop thinking about vain things, and switched off the lights.

After that, Crowley was not able recollect much about the rest of that night, except that his cup was always full and that at some point the woman remarked that the night was already well advanced and wouldn't Crowley like to lie down for a moment, and for him it sounded like very magnificent idea at that time.

* * *

Crowley woke up in the morning to find out that a headache about the size of China had made its home inside his head, and that at some point in the night he had changed back to his natural form. It took him a moment to remember how to return in more human-like shape of his, and he regretted it almost immediately as the all liquid he had drank last night started to explode upwards as if he had inadvertently arranged volcano inside his stomach.

His stomach finally emptied, Crowley felt miserable and tired and didn't want anything more than go to home and sleep for at least a decade.

For a moment he wondered if he had at some point of last night had his clothes on, and if so, whether they had disappeared before or after he had fell asleep in a heap of hay at some barn, and why he didn't seem to have a slightest recollection of arriving… He had a vague idea that someone had said something somewhere, and that it was associated with heavy alcohol consumption, and at some point someone was perhaps suggested something that had seemed like a good idea, and that as a result of that he had then awakened, with his scales and coils and all, to the worst hangover since that one time in Spain.

Too tired to explain anything to the natives Crowley sent himself off, promising that he would never drink anything alcoholic again – except, of course, if he very much wanted to.

* * *

Crowley's understandings of the events of that winter solstice in 1660 were clarified considerably in 1723, when the miracle submitted on behalf of Aziraphale led to the fact that his son hit him quite firmly to the chin.


	3. Death's Door and Back Again, Part 1

**Part I**

"He cannot die, Sammy! He's… he's Bobby, for God's sake! He can't be killed by one bullet!" Dean's voice was desperate as he looked at his brother with pleading eyes, but Sam couldn't do nothing more than just shook his head resigfully. He felt too miserable to give another any sorts of relief.

"He just can't", Dean repeated, basically to no-one.

"Of course he cannot; we still have some unfinished business going on", commented the voice that neither of the two brothers were too lenient to hear at that very moment.

Dean swore and went to grab his demon-knife, only to swear again as he then remembered that he had left it in the car. Sam stood up to his full, significant, length, and stared darkly at Crowley, who stood in the doorway, smiling benevolently. "What do you want now, Crowley?" he asked with deep, menacing voice.

"Well, I surely didn't come to see you, Moose", Crowley answered and took one step towards Bobby's bed. Dean and Sam moved to block his way.

Crowley sighed. "Really, boys? Judging by what Squirrel just said, the good old Robert is already a goner; do you really think that even I could make the situation any worse?"

"Say, by stealing his soul, maybe?" Dean growled.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Oh, can't you two just get over that already?"

Sam took a deep breath. "Crowley. No one in this room is about to sell his soul to you, and you wouldn't be able to improve Bobby's health without such an agreement. It's best for you to go now while you still can."

Crowley snorted. "Your souls have so far been nothing more than an inconvenience! No, I wouldn't collect them even if you offered. Bobby, now, would have been a different matter… but that was then. You see, boys, thing is this: I need you two to get rid of the Leviathan… and I need you to be in the best condition you can accomplish. What I don't need to have is two pathetic human wrecks which you will become, if your father figure kicks the bucket. So, I need Bobby to keep you two on radar. You would not believe my honesty? Alright; then believe that I always seek my own interests first."

The brothers glanced at each other. "We're still not going to enter into any contracts with you, Crowley. How are you thinking to help Bobby without one?" Dean asked, showing indifference, barely managing to soothe the butterflies fluttering in his stomach. He knew the demon should not be trusted… unless there was something for him to gain.

"I'm not doing anything", Crowley answered, self-satisfied smile plastered on his face, "and the one who is, has already begun."

Dean and Sam turned around almost at the same time. At Bobby's bedside there stood two men. One of them, a tall man wearing an elegant suit and sunglasses, was bent down over their friend and had one of his hands pressed lightly on Bobby's forehead.

"Hey!" Dean shouted, and Sam at his side jumped ahead to haul the man farther, but his partner stepped in front of them.

"Please, calm down! We intend to help, not harm." Short and corpulent little man, who looked a lot like a librarian, smiled disarmingly at them – Or, at least, that had been an idea.

Growling, Dean pushed the man aside and reached out his hand to grab his companion, who seemed to be fallen in some kind of trance, but the pudgy man clung in to his arm.

"You do not understand!" he cried. "Healing has already begun, you must not wake him up now or the consequences can be unpleasant for all of us, especially for Mr. Singer!"

Dean hesitated and looked questioningly at Sam, who shrugged his shoulders; he had no idea what the man meant, either.

Dean dropped his hands. "Okay then; but you should start to explain this, fast. The both of you," he added, glaring at Crowley, who grinned back to him and took a sip from a glass that had somehow appeared in his hand. _Damn demons._

Unknown man looked relieved. "With pleasure! Perhaps you would enjoy a cup of tea as we talk?" Round table appeared out of nowhere in to a sterile hospital room. There was steam raising from a porcelain teapot, and the baked goods seemed like they have just came out of the oven. "Mm… muffins with honey and blueberry! I know a small bakery in the picturesque town called Lower Taddfield… Their pastries are really mouth-watering! Fergus, would you take one, too?" The man asked, glancing at Crowley. He raised his glass.

"This is my version of drink called "tea-on-the-rocks", the demon answered.

The man looked puzzled. "But there's no tea in that at all!"

Crowley grinned. "That, Aziraphale, is exactly the 'rocks' in it."

The man, now known as Aziraphale, huffed in frustration. "Oh… Good Heaven's, how am I going to survive with you two demons?"

Crowley seemed to be about to reply something cheeky, but Sam hastily interrupted; "You – you, therefore, are not a demon?"

Aziraphale stared at him with affronted look while Crowley quickly turned the other direction, clearly trying to hide his amusement. "Me? A demon? My goodness, I never! Where would you two had gotten such a perverse idea?"

"Well, it looks like you are being pretty thick with one, for starters", Dean pointed out, his voice being little muffled due the large bite off a muffin he had just took. "What?" he continued after seeing the disapproving look his brother was giving to him, "These are awesome!"

Aziraphale smiled. "They indeed are, aren't they?"

Sam rubbed his temples. "Can we stay at the case, please? Your name is, therefore, Azip ... Aziraphale - And you are -? "

Aziraphale gave him an indescribably friendly gaze. "Why, angel of the Lord, of course."

Sam's eyes become rounded and the gagging noise from his side suggested that Dean got his muffin stuck in his throat. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. _An angel. An angel, who is working with a demon. An angel who has not yet tried to kill us. I drink the tea with an angel. An angel, whose comrade - an angel? A demon? – is just doing something to Bobby._

Dean seemed to have got his breath running again. "How about that friend of yours?" he asked, referring the man in sunglasses, "Is he an angel, too?"

Looking a little hesitant, Aziraphale licked his lips. "Um… Well, not actually… I mean, he may be a bit like… a fallen angel…? I don't mean to say that he would be the same set as Lucifer!" he hastened to continue. "His fall came later, if that should be called falling. Anthony himself says that he more like sauntered vaguely downwards… It is of course true that he is a demon, but he's very friendly deep down, if you just use time to get to know him first…"

Sam cleared his throat. "I bet you understand, why that doesn't exactly make it any easier for us to trust you? That is, ever since the Apocalypse - well, even before that, really - we are not considered well in the books of Heaven."

Now it was Aziraphale's turn to look confused. "Apocalypse? But I thought that Adam cleared it all out."

Sam blinked. Adam? The last time he had seen their poor half-brother, hi had been possessed by Michael. "Now I'm not sure if I understand…"

Crowley sighed loudly. "Different Apocalypse, Aziraphale. They gave it a new try after that fiasco on the '90s. They tried to weed out the variable factors by leaving the antichrist ruled out and including the original performers in a new meat suits." He waved his hand towards the Winchesters. "Those two were selected in starring roles. It… did not end quite so neatly as with Adam in the picture, but I guess it's the end result that counts. Lucifer sits locked in his box, there's peace on earth and the all new government in Hell." At this point, Crowley clearly couldn't be puffing his chest off pride.

Aziraphale nodded slowly. "…I understand. We, as in Anthony and I, were of course very pleased to hear about your promotion. But", at this point his countenance changed to reproachful, "you could have told us what really was going on back then, too."

Crowley shrugged. "Hey; you're the ones who chose to not engage in to Hell's and Heaven's affairs ever again, and it would have been a shame to pull you out of a well-deserved retirement… And the things did end up being just fine!" Crowley remarked, spreading his arms contentedly.

Dean snorted audibly. "No thanks you", he muttered.

Aziraphale still seemed to be dissatisfied. "And if things were had not "end up well"? At what point you would had seen it necessary to tell us, that "the end of world is becoming again"?"

Crowley managed to show a little self-conscious. "I figured out that if it came down to it, you would notice it by yourselves… right?"

Aziraphale sighed and rolled his eyes. "Really, Fergus?"

"Okay, why do you keep calling him Fergus?" Dean asked. "As far as I know, the little son of a bitch's name is Crowley."

Aziraphale gazed at him questioningly. "But that is only his last name; his first name is Fergus."

"Uh, what?" Sam asked confusedly. "I thought that Crowley is the name he uses as a demon; and wasn't his last name MacLeod when he was still… well, human?"

"I'm right here, you know", Crowley pointed out, but no one paid him any attention.

"MacLeod?" Aziraphale said and wrinkled his nose as if he smelled something rotten. "It is his mother's last name ... if that… female person… could be called the mother by any definitions of that word. …No, Crowley is his last name by his father's side… My Anthony's, Anthony J. Crowley's."

Both Winchesters stared at Aziraphale with their mouths wide open before their eyes flashed from him to Crowley, then to the figure that still stood by Bobby's bedside, and back to Crowley again.

"His father…?" Sam repeated in a low voice, "You mean his actually Crowley's… father?"

Crowley sighed heavily. "Humans tend to have both father and mother, Moose. It's called biology."

"Wait a minute", Dean interrupted. "You mean that you let the father Crowley - Crowley's father! - to try and heal Bobby? While he is not only a demon, but also the father of that son of a bitch?"

"That was unnecessary", Crowley muttered.

"But Anthony has always been better healer than I am!" Aziraphale assured. "He even resurrected a dove, that I… I mean… who has suffered an unfortunate accident as a result of an accidental suffocation…"

"The hell with pigeons!" Dean snarled, and Aziraphale's well-manicured hand flew over his mouth due the shock. "The thing is that you will make your friend to stop no matter what it is he's doing - right now -, or I'll…"

"Hey! Do not threaten my Angel, only I get to do that!" rang out an unknown voice, but the brothers hardly even registered it, because almost at the same time they also heard another, much more familiar, voice…

"Do you have to make that kind of noise in the hospital? Idjits. "


	4. Death's Door and Back Again, Part 2

**Part II**

"So, which one you choose, Bobby Singer?"

Bobby thought frantically. To stay with the boys - and turn into a ghost. Or to leave - where? In the Heaven? In to the Hell? Somewhere else which he didn't have a clue?

 _How the boys would fare without me?_ Bobby agonized. _Dean, of course, comes up with some way to the blame it all on himself, and Sam has his things badly anyway…_

He had already opened his mouth to tell the Reaper his answer, when the unknown voice interjected, "Or maybe you could let me to heal yourself."

Bobby saw the Reaper go stiff and turned around. A slender man wearing an elegant suit and sunglasses circled in his mindscape, tilting his head to study the contents of this book shelves. "Oh! This is great! … I know someone who would really want to add _this_ in his collection…"

Bobby cleared his throat. "And who are you?" he growled.

The man turned and grinned at him. "The name is Crowley; Anthony J. Crowley", he said, offering his hand to shake. Bobby looked at it and crossed his arms over his chest.

"The only Crowley which I know is that one demon bastard who is playing to be the king of Hell now that all the big guns are out of the picture", he remarked suspiciously.

The man laughed a little awkwardly. "Um, that's probably my fault – the part of being bastard, I mean. You see, I was really drunk that night - the winter solstice, you know - and I still don't know what really happened, or no, I know, therefore, the flowers and the bees, and so forth, but my memory is so far quite obscure…"

Bobby was feeling quite baffled. "What? Explain so that others will understand", he snarled, giving out his many years of experience being authority figure for younger hunters.

Another Crowley fell silent at once. "Aha. So, start from the beginning: I'm A.J. Crowley, a demon and a fallen angel. My son Fergus should be familiar to you…?"

Name boomed blankly in Bobby's mind for a moment until he remembered: Fergus MacLeod. Crowley's name before he became… well, Crowley.

"Are you Crowley's father…?" Bobby started in surprise, but was interrupted by the Reaper.

"What do you want, a demon? This man is already nearly dead; let me do my job."

Crowley senior (?) shook his finger with reproaching look on his face. "It's not polite to interrupt when others are talking. In addition, you should already notice that our friend Bobby is not as a goner as you previously thought he was…"

The Reaper looked surprised, and his eyes became distant before almost popping out of their sockets. "This is a hoax!" He retorted. "You cannot cure him without either the contract or the permission of the person concerned, it is the rules!"

"Ah, but you see, I have never been one of those who play by the rules", Crowley senior (beat it, it sounded better than "Another Crowley") pointed out, grinning mischievously. "Your work seems to have lapsed, so please get going on your merry way!"

The Reaper gave him a dark look. "You should hope that we never come across again", he grunted and disappeared.

Bobby blinked. Casually, he glanced at the window and saw that the sky had begun to whiten, as the sun would soon be rising. _So it's true…_ , he thought.

Bobby turned towards the older Crowley with his hands clenched and ready to fight, I he had to. "Okay, demon - I don't know which one of those idjits this time sold out their soul, but you'd better return it or…"

The man acknowledged his threatening tone with the flick of his hand. "Come on, the whole idea of selling souls is so old fashioned… A lot of effort and the result is only a single soul! I like a little bit more… far-reaching projects. "

Bobby leaned back and looked at the demon calculatingly. "Meaning…?"

Crowley senior took over the festive position. "Well, yes, you know… Instant loans. Telemarketers. Rush hours. Spam. Chain letters… I could continue this forever."

Bobby raised his eyebrow. "What-?"

"I invented them!" Crowley senior proudly declared with a dashing smile. "Think of how much annoyance and ill will a single telemarketer is able to spread during a single lunch hour…?"

Bobby rubbed his temples. "This can't be happening… The father is just as messed up as the son… And how is it managed at all? How can a demon have a son?"

The demon looked embarrassed. "So, therefore, I was really drunk, but technically speaking, uh, when a man and a woman…"

"Shut up!" Bobby snarled. "I know how biology works! What I don't understand is how it works for you! You've got no body on your own, you just borrow them from other people…"

Crowley senior looked hurt. "Excuse me, but this body - or not quite this, I didn't came into your brain in the flesh (that would had been messy!) - but anyway, that body right there outside of your mind", Crowley waved generally somewhere towards the ceiling, "is entirely mine, tailor-made for me!" The demon grimaced slightly. "Basically, it was originally a snake's body, but got bored with all that crawling on my stomach all the time, so I made some _minor_ improvements - though eyes remained unchanged." To prove this, the demon took off his sunglasses, and there indeed were two golden reptile-eyes under them.

"Well, aren't you a cutie", Bobby pointed out dryly.

Crowley senior laughed so that Bobby had time to see a glimpse of a thin, forked serpent's tongue. "Ah, I'm flattered, but I would never tempt a man with whom my little Fergus have a crush on!" he said, stretching, clearly waiting for the reaction.

He did not have to wait in vain.

Bobby's face went all red. "WHA-! What are you talking about, demon? There's nothing going on between me and Crowley!"

The demon smiled at him affectedly. "I have understood otherwise, Bobby Singer. Never before have I seen Fergus going so obsessively possessive over anyone or anything. And about that", Crowley senior continued with his eyes gleaming, "you asked me previously, which Winchester sold his soul to save you. The answer: neither. Fergus paid it by agreeing to come see Aziraphale's book club's annual croquet tournament with me… It is deadly dull (well, of course, that's what I invented it's to be), but my angel would be sssso disappointed, if I skip it."

"Your angel…?"

The demon seemed to realize how that sounded like, as his eyes widened and he became flustered. "I didn't mean it sssso! I mean, he issss "my angel" assss like being "this particular angel whom I know and who just enough a bastard to be worth of liking unlike those other Celestial fools for whom everything is just black and white with no sssshades of gray"! Sssso, we are friendssss, we don't ... we aren't… loversssss…" Crowley seniors' voice faded to mumbling.

Bobby felt a slightly smug, which was almost but not quite enough to replace the fright caused to him by a demon. _As if Crowley would never be interested in me otherwise than as a result of my soul_ , he thought grimly.

In the meantime, the demon had gathered his nerves and focused on replacing the sunglasses on his face like it would have been a very demanding task to accomplish. "Well, I guess we have wasted enough time already! Are you ready to return to the land of the living?"

Bobby observed Crowley senior's still slightly red face and nodded. "There's better to be any -" he began, and the same white light seemed to swallow them. After a moment, Bobby realized that he was staring at the ceiling with Crowley Senior's hand on his forehead. Seeing Bobby had opened his eyes, the demon pulled it off almost apologetically and slumped to sit on the chair next to the bed, looking pale and weary.

"- flash shows…", Bobby mumbled. He was about to say more, but then he heard Dean's familiar voice flooding into his ears. Glancing towards the door, he found the brothers threatening a man who looked so stereotypical British-librarian-gay, that he barely could be any of them. He noted that Crowley Senior had his face set in expression that spoke about protective insticts waking up. Bobby groaned in frustration. Those two always managed to find themselves in trouble… clearing his throat, he opened his mouth to say something that would prevent situation becoming a massacre, while the demon was making exactly the same thing almost simultaneously.

"Hey! Do not threaten my Angel, only I get to do that!"

"Do you have to make that kind of noise in the hospital? Idjits. "

* * *

Dean and Sam spun around and were hardly able to believe their eyes: it was Bobby, still pale and looking exhausted, but alive, conscious and clearly in better shape than earlier.

"Bobby!" Dean cried joyfully and already took a step towards Bobby's bed to hug the older hunter, before he stopped and stood there, arms half spread and looking awkward. Sam didn't seem to have the same inhibitions: he jumped at once next to the bed and clutched Bobby's hand between his own two hands.

"Bobby! You wouldn't believe of how relieved we are!" he declared with tears in his eyes.

"Yes, yes, there is no reason to start to drill here", Bobby muttered uncomfortable. On his side, he saw a man wearing rather tasteless tartan – _must be Crowley Senior's angel_ – place his hands on the demon's shoulders and look him searchingly straight in the eyes before he let out relieved smile and pulled him in a quick but gentle embrace (that demon seemed to be protesting mainly out of habit). He also glanced at their Crowley and found the demon looking at closely at him. After seeing that he had been find out, the demon winked and blew a quick kiss at him that made Bobby's face feeling rather hot. _Little son of a bitch_ …

The angel straightened up and looked at them with a smile. "This has been a very pleasant and I really hope to see you all again somewhat more favorable conditions, but I'm afraid that it's time for us to leave; that kind of healing takes its toll, and my dear friend is in dire need of rest…"

Dean opened his mouth, probably to tell how little they cared about the current condition of the demon, but Bobby cut him off. "He recovers?" he asked, a little guiltily. The brothers shot stunned glances towards their mentor.

Angel's smile became even more radiant. "Oh, thank you very much for your concern, but as I said, he yearns only for rest. Within a few days this old snake should be back in the field and glue coins in asphalt to annoy passers-by."

"It's "tempting into the sin of greed", Angel, not "annoying"!" the older demon whined, but didn't get any attention.

Bobby nodded. "Good; for a demon that friend of your is an okay guy." He looked at Crowley with a significant eye. "Would do some good for you to follow your father's lead", the old hunter grunted.

Bobby heard the brothers making dismayed noises, but kept his attention focused on Crowley, who looked surprised for a moment but recovered quickly from it. "Oh, but Bobby, all children have to rebelled against their parents at some point of their life to not get caught under their shadow; and the inventor of the Original Sin casts a very long shadow indeed…" he pointed out, with a silky purr on his voice.

Bobby snorted. "Why am I not surprised? Telemarketers and the Original Sin: the connection is as clear as a day…"

"And don't forget about the agriculture!" Crowley added with a grin.

Dean seemed to have fallen helplessly out of the plot, and Sam's situation didn't seem to be any better. "Bobby, what exactly you are talking about?"

Bobby waved a dismissive hand at him. "I'll explain sometime… And oh, by the way, Crowley: croquet? For real? All my life's worth of is one game of croquet?"

Crowley looked unusually serious, before he took up the the familiar pose of assimilation again. "Ah, Bobby, I haven't got slightest idea what you're talking about. Now, if you allow, I shall ensure that Aziraphale gets my father home in one piece - these pan-Atlantic flies always seem to take little too much out of him…"

Before anyone could say anything else, Crowley had already taken the two other supernatural beings by their shoulders, and the trio disappeared in an instant, leaving behind the intoxicating smell of sulfur and myrrh.

Sam hurried to open the window before sending a questioning gaze at Bobby. "Will someone finally explain what just happened …?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, did we really let two powerful demons just walk out?"

Bobby sighed. "Boys… I wouldn't even know where to begin."


	5. Your Relationship Status Has Updated

After they had said good-byes to Fergus, the two of them sat in Aziraphale's kitchen, nursing their teacups in comfortable silence.

At least, silence was comfortable for Aziraphale. Crowley, instead, had his mind full of thoughts which all focused on serene angel sitting right across of him.

After Apocalypse-That-Didn't-Happen –version 1.0., that is – two former enemies, who had first became reluctant allies and then somewhat friends, had started to spend a lot time together. So much time, in fact, that Crowley now spent more time at Aziraphale's bookstore than his own apartment, and Fergus had started to make clear innuendos towards the fact that they could just as well live together, _for someone's sake!_

Devil's didn't love - that was the truth that Crowley had been living with all of his existence as a demon. What he felt towards Az – all those warm, fuzzy feelings – couldn't be love.

Now, lust would have been acceptable. Since Crowley and Aziraphale weren't actual humans, they didn't really feel need for physical intimacy. Crowley had had his trial runs – which Fergus was a living (or undead?) proof for – but Aziraphale, as far as Crowley knew, felt totally uninterested towards that kind of encounters. Tempting the angel would had been something he was expected to do – heck, even Fergus had first thought that that had been what Crowley had been aiming at!

Devil's didn't love - it wasn't in their job description. And yet, sometimes, he did wonder… The smiles, the small, un-meaningful touches, the comfort of being near each other… wasn't that love? That just seeing one another made you happy and content?

And what about Fergus – wasn't that, too, love? That heart-clenching fear he felt if he hadn't heard about his son for a sometime, and then he finally called just to tell that "my tailor got eaten, need to keep low profile, I'll call you again"… And the joy he felt when Fergus visited and they spent evening at the bar or driving around or just talking in Aziraphale's living room… The fondness he could recall while watching his son trying to teach the angel to use smartphone… What else could it be than love…?

Subtle cough from Aziraphale's side of the table made Crowley to surface from his thoughts and look at the angel, who was giving him a considering look.

"What is it?" Crowley asked.

"I'm sorry if I disturbed you, I… You just seemed to be so concerned about something, and I just wanted to ask if there was anything I could do for you?" Aziraphale answered, a light blush covering his cheeks as if he felt he was being rude for interrupting.

Crowley rubbed his temple. "Not really, I just… I'm…" Crowley took off his sunglasses to look Aziraphale right in eye to eye, "I'm not sure what we are right now, angel."

Aziraphale seemed hesitant. "I'm not sure if I understand…"

"It just… I enjoy being with you - talking, drinking, sitting around without saying anything – and I'm not sure why! These feelings towardssss you… I know only one word there is to dessssscribe them, and… I'm a demon, Aziraphale! Demossss don't, they _can't_ to… to… _love_ …"

Crowley fell in silence, feeling ashamed and anxious and waiting the angel to react, even if he dreaded what in way he would…

What he didn't expect was Aziraphale to lay his soft hand over his and his fingers to gently rub over his knuckles.

"Is that what you're worried about?" the angel asked in just a tender, accepting voice that Crowley felt like weeping. "If so, then perish those fears! I have come to see for a some time now, that even if demons at whole can't feel love, you certainly do, and… And I love you, too, my Anthony."

Crowley's eyes went wide. "But you.. you can't! You're an angel…"

"… And for what we angel are for if not to love, my dear?" Aziraphale asked with a smile which made Crowley fell a bit dizzy. _I'm becoming drunk without a sip of alcohol_ , he thought absentmindedly.

"Then… you won't fall…?" Crowley asked with simmer of hope in his voice. Since if he really could love, if the angel could find it in his heart to love him, then maybe they just could make it work…

Aziraphale shook his head looking a little bit amused. "Oh, dearest… Aren't just doing what we have taught to do… "Love the sinner"? Why would I be punished for taking a heed of our father's words? And", Aziraphale continued, this time with a firm voice, "even if there was a punishment for what I feel for you, then I would take it and feel no remorse."

Crowley felt his eyes starting to sting, but he could not look away from Aziraphale's eyes. He saw the angel licking his lips before he asked, "If it's not too soon… would it be okay for me to embrace you?"

Without trusting his voice, Crowley nodded, and Aziraphale rose from his chair to sit beside him, and gathered him in on the most wondrous hug Crowley had ever received. It was everything the demon had ever hoped for, and it took only a few second for him to answer it, squeezing the angel against himself as if he never wanted to let go again.

Finally they separated from each other, lingering, since neither of them really wanted to, and looked at one another's face, holding their united hands between them.

"So…" Crowley asked and couched a little, "how are we going to continue this?"

Aziraphale smiled and bend forward to press soft kiss on his cheek. "We go one day at time… and we'll do whatever feels right to."

…

"You do understand that we will need to tell Fergus about our updated relationship status at some point, angel?"

"I do; and I'm totally leaving that to _you_ , my dear."


	6. Organic Food (or Preventing Cabin Fever)

He probably should have had to begin to suspect something at the point when carrot bench appeared under the window of his hideaway. Lumpy piece of land behind the shed, where he almost broke his foot one night and which was revealed by morning light to be an inverted potato bench, had also been a pretty clear hint. When next to the fence then appeared line of plush pumpkins, overnight and all of them already spotting a teethy smile, Bobby gave up and grabbed his cell phone.

Crowley responded at the first ring.

"Yeas, love?" he asked with a silky, purring voice, which always did funny things for Bobby's… well, _lower regions_.

Focus, Bobby told himself. "One question. The garden: Why?"

Crowley sighed. "Well, there're SucroCorp's poisons in every fast-food nowadays, and I know you live mainly by frozen pizza. My father saw a lot of effort in front of your health; I would not let his work go to waste."

Bobby sighed in frustration. "It's only temporary", he reminded. "I can live by game until that asshole Dick has been sent back to purgatory."

"Ah, but this could be a good spot for a lifestyle redesign! You see, I've took some time to survey the nutritional contents of these foods rather thoroughly, and I'm pretty sure that people's digestive system is not developed to parse this kind of filth", Crowley cooed - _cooed_! – at him.

Bobby frowned. "Oh, so now you are food therapist, too? Wasn't being the sole ruler of Hell enough of work for you, princess?"

"Ha ha. Someone's just taking their investments seriously, that's all."

Bobby glanced out the window, and towards the grinning pumpkins. "Was it necessary to give those pumpkins faces? And how did you manage to get all this grow in such a short time?"

He could almost hear Crowley pursing his mouth as he corresponded, "You do not understand art, luv. And what comes to the growth, I inherited my green thumb from my father, as well as, um, certain tendencies towards plant-whispering."

"Your father keeps the garden?" Well, that was something Bobby wouldn't have guessed on the basis of Crowley Senior's appearance and mannerisms.

"Only houseplants", Crowley admitted. "But you should see how beautifully they grow!"

"I can imagine…" Bobby sighed with resignation. "What should I be making with of all this then? Raw carrot does not properly match at my idea of the dinner."

The smell of sulfur would be enough to indicate the arrival of not-so-desired guest even without discreet coughs. Bobby groaned and turned to look at Crowley. Seeing what the demon was holding in his hands, he groaned again.

"Coincidentally", Crowley told with a sugary smile and a waved the brand-new cookery book he held in his hand, "I have gotten infatuated of cooking just recently…"

* * *

After Karen's death, Bobby had hardly been interested to engage of the secrets of cooking. Crowley, in turn, was at least as helpless at the kitchen as what Bobby felt himself, but devoted himself at it with all the more vigor, making massive tantrums every time when the output didn't meet his high expectations. Every time when Crowley returned to Hell after throwing another one of his gourmet creations out of the window, Bobby thanked his luck that he wasn't one of those poor demons' who would be on the receiving end of the King of Hells frustration.

But no matter how massive the failing was, the next day Crowley would appear back, a new cookbook in his hands and seemingly convinced that this time everything would be going according to plan.

Bobby wasn't as displeased by that than he perhaps should have been: Crowley could be very pleasant company - at least when he wasn't plotting of torturing or killing anyone - and Bobby had been feeling lonely ever since the boys had left him at the yard of his hideaway and rode off after commanding him to "keep his head down". After that the all he had heard about the boys had been few calls in which they said they were okay, their studies were making progress and that Bobby should stay away from the field, even though he started to be half dead of boredom. At that point, the company of the demon felt far from unwelcome.

Considering this, it was perhaps not so surprising that Bobby at one time when Crowley was already doing the check-out asked him to stay for one beer. The demon rejrcted the offered beer without batting an eye and conjured up a bottle of Craig and two glasses.

These small moments of relaxation soon became permanent, and when Crowley finally decided to stop unnecessary gourmet gimmick and started to manufacture simpler meals that didn't regularly end up in disasters, Bobby noticed that he had begun to yearn these daily visits.

* * *

"… And so, therefore, happened duiring the Apocalypse: 1990's." Crowley took a small sip from his glass.

Bobby was forced to admit that both Crowley's storyteller capabilities and his taste of alcohol were excellent. They had enjoyed a successful meal – rabbit stew with a side of vegetables and baked potatoes and, as a dessert, an apricot pie on which behalf Dean would certainly have been willing to die (yet again) - and now they sat sipping Craig while Crowley entertained them with stories. Crowley clearly enjoyed the sound of his own voice, and Bobby didn't wonder about it at all – the phone book would probably had sounded interesting while read with Crowley's velvety voice.

"What about you, Bobby? Any stories you would like to share?" Crowley asked with a languorous smile.

Bobby shrugged. "I'm not that much of a storyteller. And the things I do aren't even all that interesting: nothing but monsters and death."

"Oh, honey… You know that the vast majority of people in this world see your life as an exciting adventure?" Crowley remarked with a fond smile.

"Well, they are ignorant fools - as was I, once…" Bobby rubbed the chain around his neck which held his engagement rings.

Crowley noticed the gesture and coughed discreetly. "Well, I believe it's time for me to leave", he announced while standing up.

"Already? You are welcome to linger a while longer…" Bobby had difficulties to believe his own ears. Did he really ask Crowley to stay? _I think I'm really starting to show signs of cabin fever…_

Crowley was also a little surprised, but then let out self-satisfied grin. "I'm sorry, luv: king's work never ends and blah blah blah… But I hope you have nothing against it if I drop by again tomorrow?"

Bobby shrugged his shoulders trying to look indifferent. "Well, if you want to… You're not entirely foul to talk with, at least not for a demon."

"You truly know how to make guy feel special…" Crowley purred. "When will you make me a honest man?"

"Oh, tell me another!" Bobby snarled, his face feeling quite hot, and Crowley disappeared, leaving behind a puff of sulfur and the soft echo of his chuckles.

Bobby rubbed his forehead. What was he thinking - spending time with the demon? Any other hunter would had severed Crowley's head already - heck, he would had done it by himself… if it were any other demon.

Bobby glanced towards the armchairs which Crowley had been vacating, and remembered how relaxed and good-humored demon had been, while sipping Craig and talking… how he had gotten inspired by his stories so that he had forgotten to act all high and mighty and had started gesticulating with his hands, eyes shining softly and a pleasured smile on his face…

Bobby could not hold back his own smile when he raised his glass towards the empty seat of Crowley's as if he was still there. "See you tomorrow… Fergus."


	7. Get Out of the Purgatory Free(ish)

_"…thanks for your call. Unfortunately, I cannot / don't want / are not interested to answer right now, pick your favorite. You can leave a message after the scream. Kisses~!"_ *IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIK!*

"Crowley! I know that you are there! You have exactly one minute time to answer before I start the summoning spell! I'm not kidding here, demon!"

* click * "Ah, Bobby… Before you say anything else: _what_ are you wearing?"

"…Shut it, Crowley! I do not have time to play games with you. I want a clear answer to this: what it is, what Sam says about Dean being in purgatory?"

"…You certainly aren't any fun today, luv…"

"Crowley…!"

"All right, all right - now calm down, before you burst one of the vital veins or something ... Yes, Squirrel and Cassie are in purgatory."

"Well then why aren't you already getting them away from there!?"

"…"

* sigh * "Crowley…"

"… Is there any particular rush for that?"

"…?! _Particular_ _rush_ , huh?!"

"Well, couldn't you think of this experience as a kind of… An Informal Educational Camp?"

"… You took that from Wikipedia, didn't you?"

"Dean and Cas get time to patch their infected relationship…"

"Crowley…"

"… And they certainly will get a number of new friends…"

"Crowley!"

"… Well, maybe not _many_ , not with _that_ temperament at least…"

"CROWLEY!"

… "Yes, love?"

"…Purgatory is the place where monsters go after death, right?"

… "Of course."

"And Dean is a hunter. So it's very likely that all the inhabitants of the place would be very happy to eat him _raw_."

"Noticing Dean's cholesterol values, I would not recommend…"

"Damnit, Crowley! Now stop that quibbling and start to think up a way to get those two out of _there_ and back to _here_ and I mean NOW!"

… "You didn't ask nicely."

"Crowley!"

* humph * "But Dean and Sam would try to make me give back my prophet!"

… "Your what?"

"…My prophet."

* sigh * "…You're talking about Kevin Tran now, aren't you…?"

"…Oh well…"

* siiiighhhh * "Crowley, sent the kid to his home."

"Nope."

"… You know that you sound like an elementary schooler right now?"

…! "Now _that_ was _rude_ , Bobby!"

"Crowley, be sensible now. Please. Let the boy go to his home and help me to get Dean and Cas back. I'm you begging here. And if you know me AT ALL, you know how HARD it is for me to have to ask for ANYTHING from ANYBODY, especially from a DEMON!"

… "Yes, I believe it… Well, let's say like this: If I help you to pick up Dean and Feathers… AND let the prophet go… What do I get?"

… "My eternal gratitude?"

"That sounds… tempting, yes, buuuut… I'll pass. If you want me to help you in this, you should offer to me something just as valuable in exchange."

"…You better not even begin to start about me selling my soul to you, Crowley, or I'll …!"

"Oh, Bobby, I really wouldn't want to separate your soul from your body any time soon ~!"

… * sigh * "…Crowley, I'm way too tired to play these games with you right now. Say what you want - directly, and without any loopholes - and I will see what I can do."

"…You could start by calling me Fergus."

… "…What?"

* sigh * "Crowley's a surname. My father and Aziraphale call me Fergus; you could do the same."

"… You want me to call you by your given name?"

"YOU always make me to call you Bobby."

"So, since Mr. Singer sounds somehow… Oh well. So now on I'll be calling you Fergus: this much clear. What else?"

"… Has anyone told you that you are a wonderful man?"

"Crow- um, Fergus! Focus. This can't be all yiu're hoping to gaing out of this?"

"…I want a room."

… "Huh?"

"You shouldn't say "huh" all that much, luv; it sounds vulgar, even for you… I said I wanted a room. In your house, from my own use. A place where I can come and go as I feel like."

"…You're not serious."

"Oh, you have no idea how serious I am, love…"

"Should I really believe that that is all what you want? Guest room for you to use and to be called by your first name?"

"…I have no power over what you're believing about anything, Bobby, but yes, that's all what I ask at this time."

… "One would think that the King of Hell would have little more far-reaching dreams."

"Oh, Bobby… You wouldn't even start to guess what kinds of things I dream of~"

* blush * "…Was that really all? I won't offer this again… Fergus."

"… Should we seal the deal by traditional way?"

"What - no! Damn it, Crowl- Fergus, can't you take anything seriously?"

"But I'm being deathly seriously, Bobby ~!"

… "You will have to purchase your furniture yourself."

"No problem, luv~"

"And the boy - Kevin - leaves to his home right now."

* sigh * "All right, all right… He just popped up next to his mother on the couch."

"…I'll ask Sam to call him and to make sure of that."

* humph* "Don't you trust my word…?"

"…For my own part, yes… But for others, I'll still play it safe."

… "You are indeed a wonderful man, Bobby Singer ~"

* blush* "…You're hopeless… How are you going to get Dean and Cas out of the Purgatory?"

"Mmmmm… There's one Reaper I know who can take care of it for me… He usually takes that route on his way to the Hell…"

… "Do I even want to know?"

"Probably not; just give me a moment so I can contact that acquaintance of mine about this, and the prodigals should be at home safely during the current day."

"…Thank you, Fergus."

"Oh no; thanks belongs entirely to you, Bobby~"

"… How do I feel that you got more out of this than what we just agreed?"

"That's your paranoia talking just now, love… But I'll come to see you again in the evening!"

"Yeah, well, whatever… as long as all the boys arrive safely to home…"

*giggle* "I can't wait to start making plans for our little love nest~"

"Just… What? What nest?! "

"I have to hurry, honey; kisses~!" * click * * beeb beeb beeb *

"What was that about a love nest? Fergus…? Fergus!?"

* beeb beeb beeb *

"… Balls…"


	8. Hidden Away Little Too Well

"So", Fergus asked, "what do you guys know about Leviathan Tablet?"

From the way his father tensed and Aziraphale started to pick up the crumbles of teacakes, he knew that he had hit the spot.

"W-why would you ask about something like that?" Anthony shot back.

"You see, what I'm mostly interested about is, _are there more artifacts like that?_ As in, tablets considering, I don't know, Angels… or _Demons_."

Tension in the room was so thick that one could have been able to cut it.

"…Ah… My, how time flies! It's so late already, we should all head to bed now!" Anthony said suddenly and rose up, yawning widely. Aziraphale nodded along enthusiastically.

Fergus sighed loudly. "Father, sit back down. None of us requires any sleep, and you keep doing it just because you _enjoy_ it. Now, would you two _kindly_ tell me what you know about this?"

The Snake of Eden and the Angel of the Easter Gate looked at each other and then back to the King of the Hell, sitting at the table and playing with his teaspoon.

"Tablets are safe", Aziraphale started. "They have been _hidden_."

"Both from Heaven and Hell", Anthony added, "And thus it should stay."

Aziraphale shot a strict gaze at Fergus. "So don't you go around digging them up, young man – um, demon; it wont do any good for anyone."

"That's right", Anthony agreed. "As long as neither side knows exactly where they are, we have a balance."

"Balance of terror", Fergus mumbled, but his father heard that and smiled fondly at him. Like always, it made younger demon feel like he really should stop pestering them, and that was kind of worrisome. Anthony took his hands and looked him straight in to the eyes before continuing,

"Please, Fergus – _let it rest_. There are things that are best to leave unknown. Those Tablets… As a weapon, their power would be _way too_ terrible to use. It would make this world rift apart. _Please_."

Fergus stared at him and then turned his head away, trying to hide his nervousness. "What it is with you two that makes me feel like I'm a bad guy?"

Anthony smirked at his son and messed up his hair a little bit. "You _are_ the bad guy, Fergus – and I know that you love _every_ second of it."

"Father, stop it – I'm no kid, remember?" Fergus resisted, but he didn't look all that offended by his father's demonstration of affection. "Ah, well – I should probably be on my way, now", he then added while rising up.

"Already?" Anthony asked.

"Well, like you said: it's getting late! But, speaking seriously; I should head at Bobby's. Poor dove looked so crestfallen when I told him that I couldn't stay after dinner this time…"

"…I see", Anthony answered with a cunning smile.

"Hey, cut it out – Well, I'm out – bye bye, Aziraphale."

"Take care of yourself, dear boy, and say greetings from me to Mr. Singer!" Aziraphale answered.

"I will – see ya soon, father!"

"We should do something fun next week, go out or something", Anthony said as he gave his son a brief hug.

"Yeah, well, I'll see what I can do - kings duties never ends, yadda yadda… Bye now~!"

Fergus was gone by one buff of sulfur.

* * *

"Well, that was kinda close call", Aziraphale commented.

"Yeah… Where did he even find out about the Tablets?" Anthony pondered.

"Um… You're sure you haven't let it slip out – by accident, I mean?" Aziraphale asked carefully.

"No, Angel, I'm not that stupid – I know that Fergus would try to use them for his own gain and that would end up into a disaster. I mean, I love that boy, but that doesn't make me blind for his lust of glory…"

"I know, dear. But you really should tell him that, already… that you love him", Aziraphale said and reached out one of his hands to stoke his demon's cheek.

"I will, soon. I just… I want us to be alone, then. We may get little… sentimental, and it would be easier for us if there weren't any audience for that."

"For a longest time I couldn't see why was it so hard for you two to be clear with your emotions – but I think I can understand it now. It's not like demons are taught to appreciate things like love and kindness and honor", Az said as he gazed lovingly in Anthony's golden eyes. "And that's exactly what makes it so precious to see you – the both of you – to act by them."

Anthony blushed. "Yeah, well…", he coughed a little, "let's just make sure Fergus wont get too close to those Tablets. I hid the Angel Tablet in one of Lucifer's crypts and got ridden of all documents of it's location… um… except one… Damnit, I need to go and destroy that parchment before it's too late‼"

Anthony took one step towards the door, but Aziraphale grabbed his arm. "Wait! I… I have to confess something…"

"Huh?" Anthony turned around to see a very embarrassed-looking angel and groaned. "Az… Please tell me you hid the Demon Tablet somewhere safe…!"

"Oh, I did… maybe I just hid it little too well. You see… I've no idea where it is."

"…HUH?!"

"I think it may have been in one of the boxes with the books I… um… sold away", the angel stammered. "You see, after Adam messed up my store - well, I know he only wanted to help me, but -"

"AZIRAPHALE!"

"Oh, please dear, don't be angry at me!" Aziraphale cried out with teary eyes. "I was pure accident, I swear…!"

Anthony looked at crying angel and then pulled him into a hug. "I… I'm not angry at you – well, not much, at least. I… We'll find it, okay? We'll find it, and hide it again, and everything is good again, right…? Just… Please, Angel, stop crying!"

After Aziraphale's tears had stopped flowing Anthony withdrew and patted him on his back. "See, that's better…! Now, why don't you sit down and make a list of those places you've been selling books while I make quick visit to the Hell and dig up that parchment, okay? Then we can start looking the Demon Tablet."

"V-very well, my dear. And please pardon me for causing such lot of troubles…"

"Nah, it's fine… I mean, it's not like I haven't cause us any problems duiring the years, right?" He smirked encouragingly. "We'll fix this, Az."

After planting a quick kiss on Aziraphale's cheek, the demon sprinted away.

"I certainly hope we'll be able to fix this in time, my dear", the angel whispered to his empty house.


	9. Demons in Paris

"…You want to go where?" Fergus gaped at his father, looking quite disbelieving.

Anthony nodded enthusiastically. "To the Disneyland Paris, yes!" he answered, smiling like a lunatic (which, right now, Fergus thought he just might be… a little bit, at least). He seemed to have totally misread his son's reaction. "I knew you would love it! We're going to have so much fun. I can't even remember when I have visited there last time…"

Fergus lifted his eyebrow. "Father, I presume you haven't forgotten my age?"

"Um… about… three-hundred years…?"

Fergus nodded. "Yes; and you certainly can remember how old I was before I became a demon?" he continued.

"Ah… you were, um, let's see… something like…"

"SIXTY years, father. Sixty. Not six or even sixteen; sixty."

Anthony looked little crestfallen. "So you don't like my idea, then?" he asked, sounding dismayed. "And here I thought, that we could spent nice day together, just you and I, and while we are at it, why not tempt some tourist – two flies with a one strike! – and then we could have a nice dinner in some restaurant – we could even chose one of the cabarets with those girls dancing can-can - I know you enjoy it, even though I can't really see the appeal –"

"Father, please, I didn't mean – I didn't say I hated the idea, I just – Father, top looking so miserable…"

Fergus really couldn't stand it when his father weren't being his normal, carefree self – especially if he himself had been the one causing that sift. It made him feel guilty, something he hadn't felt for a long time.

It was even worse, since he know his father genuinely wanted to be a good parent. Due to his long existence - or maybe his long-term indifference towards humans – his just had very vague knowledge about what aging really meant for mortals. Anthony himself had been mostly the same duiring his whole lifetime, so he saw no reason why the humans would be any different. When he had then found out about Fergus, he had quickly read every book he could find about raising a child, not even once bothering to realize that his "child" was, quite frankly, a grown-up man.

Fergus could fondly recall how it had been at first – himself, being all brooding and untrusting, and Anthony and his angel trying to be as patient and careful as they could muster, all the while haven those hushed conversations about should still take naptimes and what if he was _still teething_ … It had been hellishly frustrating, yet so endearing, by it's own, messed-up ways.

And that's why Fergus, as he saw his fathers lip starting to tremble a bit – Was he trying to pull his puppy-dog face? _Really?_ – he sighed and said, "Get real, father. I was just pulling your leg – of course I would love to go to the Disneyland with you! I mean – it's gotta be fun, it's Disneyland, for Hell's sake! That's like guaranteed…"

Anthony's face brightened right away and his smile became almost blinding. "That's great! So, what are we waiting for, let's go…!"

"Wait – what about Aziraphale? Are you seriously going to go Paris without your angel tagging along?" Fergus asked.

"Um… He's not coming, this time. See, this is meant to be some kind of Father-and-Son event…"

Fergus felt little suspicious. "Have you two have a row? Should I call my lawyers?" he asked, jokingly, but ready to do just that if his father asked.

"Wha- No! No, no at all! Quite the opposite! I just – well, it's easier for us being, well, _us_ , if the angel aren't there to make all our hard work to go void with his miracles."

It sounded reasonable enough, yet Fergus was sure that there was more in it that what his father was telling. _Well, I'll let him spill it in his own space_ , he thought, _and if that doens't happen fast enough, I'll put some of my men to look into it…_

Out loud he said, "Well… Off we go, then!"

* * *

"You were right, by the way… it is like taking two flies with one strike", Fergus admitted, as he and his father were sitting beside ice-cream parlor and enjoying their sundaes while watching the teary-eyed clerk trying to get her cash register to work again. The long line of customers kept getting longer, and people's faces started to look rather pissed off. Children were whining loudly and kept asking, "is it our turn already" and "I don't wanna wait anymore" and "I want my ice-cream, you promised", and all the while their parents faces were getting darker and darker. Some of them had already given up and were now dragging their screaming and kicking offspring away.

Anthony smirked at his son. "I did promise that we would have fun, didn't I?" he reminded.

There seemed to be epidemic of broken cash registers going on in the Disneyland today. Curious enough, this didn't bother the two demons too much – either registers get broken only after they had visited that particular shop or restaurant, or it had successfully been restored right when they stepped in and got broken again as soon as they had paid their purchases.

"Those poor tourists", Fergus tutted, voice full with feigned compassion. "So: Where should we head up next?"

* * *

"What do you think; would this be a good souvenir for Aziraphale?" Anthony asked and pointed towards the _Beauty and the Beast_ –themed porcelain tea set. "Limited edition… And can you see those creepy faces?"

Fergus smiled fondly and shook his head. "Are you trying to make him happy or piss him off?" he asked back.

"Nah, he will love these… He knows that I can't give him anything too nice – need to protect my bad name, here!"

"Well, he will probably love anything you decide to buy for him…" Fergus assumed.

"Well, there was this one time last Christmas when I gave him a book named _Wreck This Journal_ … And believe me; he didn't find it funny, NOT AT ALL." Anthony shuddered, apparently remembering the angel's reaction to his gift.

"Well, you should know to never make jokes about books… Was he offended?"

"Offended? He looked like he would bite my head off! And he gave me a serious Talk. I spent a week as a nervous wreck afterwards!"

This time Fergus didn't need to feign his compassion as he, too, shuddered. Aziraphale had given him few of those Talks in the past – they made you want to beg for forgiveness and then go and _drown_ yourself in to the nearest pound just to escape that reprimanding voice.

"So, I've been thinking about buying these for Winchesters and their angelic pet", Fergus said, trying to change their minds in to happier thoughts, and held up three pairs of animal-ear headbands. "Mickey's for Squirrel, Goofy's for Moose, and Pluto's for Giraffe. Neat, aren't they?"

"Indeed… and what about Mr. Singer? What are you going to buy for him?"

Fergus snorted defensively. "What makes you think that I would buy him anything at all?" he asked.

Anthony smiled amusedly. "Maybe because you're practically living with him, right now?" he said with knowing voice.

"Well, so are you too – with Aziraphale, I mean! …Besides, we are in Paris; I could bring him some bottles of real wine, so he would finally learn the difference between it and that red dyed dishwater he insist of buying when I ask him to get some!"

Anthony nodded soberly. "Wine is a serious business", he admitted. "Hey, should we go to take a photo of us with someone for memento? These are nice frames they are selling…"

"Now that you mentioned… I think I just saw the Queen of Heart few a blocks ago."

* * *

"It was such a shame that they had to cancel the parade for this evening", Fergus commented, as they sat down on their seats in a picturesque cabaret; on the stage the dancers were prepared for their performance as the music started to play.

"True; strange, how all the actors got an aggressive diarrhea at the same time", Antony added, smirking.

"Too bad we weren't there to see their faces when they realized that all toilets are out of order~"

Two demons looked at each other for a moment and started to howl with laughter. Angry glances were thrown towards them from other tables, and the accompanist lost his notes, causing one of the dancers to step on another's foot with her pointy heel and making the third girl to fell on her butt. Hilarious sight made father and son giggle even harder.

"Aziraphale would be so disappointed in us at this moment", Fergus commented, apparently oblivious about the hullabaloo they had just created.

"Nah, Az would understand; he knows, that we are what we are – demons – and sometimes we need to act up it. It's not like he never causes any chaos while he tries to help people and interferes their lives only to get tangled into their messes and being finally forced to ask me to help him out…" There was wistful echo in Anthony's voice while he said that, as if he found the angel's behavior being totally endearing.

Fergus couldn't help but laugh. "You have really lost it now, father!" he said, playfully.

Anthony smiled hesitantly. "More like I've gained something… See, I… I told Aziraphale that I love him; and he said that he felt the same, so…"

Fergus was stunned. "Y-you? You actually did that?" he asked, amazement clearly showing from his voice.

"Why is that so surprising?" Anthony grunted.

"Well, I just never thought you would have enough guts for that", Fergus admitted. "Now, don't look so offended, you just – well, you're not exactly the bravest of demons around, father. Besides, I didn't even thought that it was possible – for us to feel…"love"."

"That's why it took me so long to… understand what I was feeling", Anthony confessed. "Aziraphale, seemingly, didn't have same problems…"

"Well, he _is_ an angel, love and whatever is kind of expected; but for a demon… that must be somewhat unheard-of." Fergus hoped that there weren't any jealousy shining out of his voice; to love and to be loved… who wouldn't want that?

Anthony fidgeted a little. "Um, well… while I was sorting out these feelings of mine, I…" - he took a deep breath – "…I've always been proud of you, Fergus; ever since we met, I've been so happy to be your father… so happy that you have _allowed_ me to be your father. And I… I really love you, son", he concluded while looking at his son straight to the eyes.

For once in his demonic life, Fergus was speechless. _I love you_. When had anyone said that to him last time? Someone had _had_ to, at one point. Rowena, when he had been just a wee kid… His wife, at least… Gavin – no, that he couldn't think about! – but after he had become a demon all those centuries ago… Had he even hoped that they would…?

Fergus couched a little to clear his throat. "I – I don't… I don't deserve that, father."

Anthony lifted his eyebrow. "What?"

"I haven't done anything that would give me any right to have your… love. Not as a human, and definitely not as a demon." He had been a pathetic human being, bitter and spiteful, and had used his own miserable life as an excuse to act like a bastard towards other, his wife and own son included. Oh, how had he hated Gavin; hated him because his wife had loved him, being angry at him just because he had been wanted, had been loved, while his own mother had abandoned him after failing to sell him away…! "There's nothing good or noble or _righteous_ in me", he continued, sneering a little. "I wish I could be worthy of your love – I want to be! – but I'm not."

Anthony sat silently, pondering his son's confession. He had heard the desperation in his voice, no matter how hard Fergus had tried to hide it, and was angry at himself for never seeing how much his son had been tormented by this before. _What kind of father am I, for not seeing my son's anguish?_ he accused himself. _But now on, I'll do better than that._

"I don't think that love should be something you can deserve by winning or archiving it", he started in sotto voice. "It's not a prize that is given to the best competitor, nor is it granted – or denied – on a whim. It's a… gift. Something you can't deserve, because it can only be offered – no strings attached. I mean, how many children _deserve_ their parents love? How many of them never scream, makes mess or breaks anything? And would love only based on merits pass as a real thing?" Anthony smiled at Fergus as he continued, "…They say, that human can only love imperfectly, because they are imperfect; but I think that they can love and be loved exactly because of that imperfection. At least", he added, blushing, "that's what Aziraphale and I are came to think of."

Anthony reached out to touch his son's shoulder. "I'm really not the right person to explain you what love is; I've only just started to believe that I can feel it. And if there was somebody who knew exactly what love _is_ , he hardly would be able to _feel_ it. All I know is that clad that you exist in this world, with all your faults and flaws and shortcomings… And that I see that there's much more redeeming features in you that you can think of. I see them; as does Az. And", he added with a knowing smile, "I'm sure that Bobby Singer has seen some of them… and would be willing to see more, if he ever got a change to."

I sat quietly for a sometime; finally Fergus said, "Just out of curiosity: How many episodes of Dr. Phil did you and Aziraphale had to watch before you came out with this script?" However, he did not manage to completely hide the emotion that made his voice vibrate. Anthony heard it, and smiled gently.

"Twenty-two, you brat", he laughed, "and that wasn't ever the worst part of it. No, that came when Az decided o ask help from the ladies of his book-club. Now that's the method of torment you should introduce to the Hell!"

Now Fergus laughed too, and the rest of the evening was spent mostly immersed in a peaceful conversation about their food or wines, or the show, or that _interesting protuberance in one man's nose and do you see that dress, does she know that it's make her look years older and what about that hat then…_


	10. And the Highest Bidder Is

"Now that's just great", Dean muttered, as they entered into the bidding area. He seemed to be still little grumpy because he had to leave his knife to the security guards.

"Just… let's stay calm", Sam said to him, tough he was just as dissatisfied as his brother.

When Kevin had called them after getting invitation to the auction where the inte called Demon Tablet would be sold, they had been suspicious: Who would have guessed that there's auctions held by monsters? Anyhow, they had quickly formed a plan: Let's get in, allow Kevin to memorize the Tablet and scram before the auction even starts.

The Plan had been good: sadly, it had also been easily prevented.

"Okay, plan B…", Dean started, but was interrupted by a purring voice.

"Oh, there actually was plan A?" Crowley asked, smirking smugly at them.

"The Hell you're doing here?!" Dean grumbled, but the demon bothered to pay no attention to him.

"Oh, Kevin – how have you been?" he asked. "And please, stop staring at me like that! Didn't I return you to dear old mommy here in a one piece?"

"Stay away from my son", Mrs. Tran spitted out and shot murderous glare towards Crowley, who brushed it off with a shrug.

"Oh, please – it's not like he's in my tastes!" he said, before turning back to the brothers, smirking. "Speaking of tastes… have you boys been in contact with dear old Bobby recently?"

"Not your business, Crowley", Sam answered.

Crowley opened his mouth to argue, but then they heard a squeaking noise. Crowley's smirk lost it's edge as he turned around to see the newcomers. "Hello, father… Aziraphale. Good to see you two."

"F-Fergus… what a, uh, pleasure to see you here", stammered the blond man who Sam recognized as the angel Aziraphale. The other man beside him, who he thought was called Anthony-something-Crowley – and who just _happened_ to be "their" Crowley's father - , had his mouth hanging open for a moment before he gathered his nerves and said, "Yes, quite a surprise." It was clear that neither of them had expected to meet the King of Hell here and they weren't as pleased by it as they tried to look like.

It was also clear that Crowley noticed that too. "Oh, come on - they have the Demon Tablet here for sell! Did you honestly expect that there wouldn't be bidders from both Hell and Heaven here trying to buy it?" Was it Sam's imagination, or was Crowley sounding a little bit… offended?

"He's right", Aziraphale admitted. "I saw Samandriel previously."

"Oh, I - I see…" Crowley the Older said and smiled little apolitically. "…So we'll be rivals about this, then?" he asked, and was really looking kinda upset about it.

"Seems so", Crowley answered offhandedly. "The looser will bring wines, next time", he then continued, and that seemed to ease the tension since other Crowley now smiled more freely and sat down beside his son, and Aziraphale soon did the same. He saw the Winchesters and smiled warmly at them.

"Ah, Dean and Sam Winchester! What a coincidence to see you here, too. What brings you -" he stopped talking as his eyes fell on Kevin. "Oh… oh, dear… You're here for the Tablet, too?"

"Damn straight", Dean answered.

"Oh." The angel looked rather miserable. "…Then I have to apologize, but I… we absolutely cannot let it fall into any sides' hands – neither Heaven's, Hell's nor even human's."

"But why not?" Sam asked, little confused. "Wouldn't closing the Gates of Hell to be best for the Heaven, too?"

Aziraphale shook his head. "Those Tablets weren't meant to be used, ever! They're… How should I put this…"

"They are assurance", other Crowley continued. "Like a nuclear weapons. Something that both sides are just as weary to use, since the consequences would be too terrible to imagine. That's why the Demon Tablet was given to Az while I'm the only one who knows the location of the Angel Tablet."

"Cold War, again", Crowley the King of Hell muttered, only to be reprimanded by his father.

"And you know all this quite well, Fergus, since I've explained it to you before! It pains me to go against you in this, since I'm your father and I love you very much, but I wont let the fragile balance between Heaven and Hell to fall apart and drag this world into a chaos and destruction just because your childish hunger for glory."

Crowley's face went bright red. "MY CHILDISH-!"

"Did someone mention chaos?" new voice interfered. It belonged to the tall person with a cunning smile and a body shape that made it difficult to say if they were male or female. They also had interestingly mismatched eyes: The right eye seemed to be blueish green, like forest's shadows, but sometimes the shade of blue darkened to that of a stormy sea. The left one was reddish brown, like leaves of fall foliage, but then colors started to swirl around like there was an forest fire caught inside his orb.

The eyes were mesmerizing to look at, and Sam managed to tore his gaze away only after he heard Crowley the Older's incredulous voice, moaning, "Not you, too! Please tell me you're not after the Demon Tablet, too!"

Newcomer seemed little startled. "Demon what-now? Oh, please – I'm not interested trinkets like that! No, I only came here to buy back that stupid hammer which that stupid oaf, Thor, has managed to lost _again_."

"Oh, I know what you mean", Crowley the Older said as he looked pointedly towards Aziraphale.

The angel blushed. "You know very well, that I didn't purposely pack the Demon Tablet into the same box with those books I sold away! It was pure accident!"

"That's exactly what they mean by "losing things", Az… By the way, shouldn't your brother be here, too? It's his hammer, anyway", Crowley the Older continued as he turned back to the newcomer.

He – that's what Sam decided to go by – snorted scornfully. "Thor? He got stuck by security guards; refused to give up of his armor. You know how he is…"

Sam couldn't hold is tongue any longer. "Wait a second – Thor? Norse pagan god?"

Mismatched eyes turned to meet his. "What? You know him?" he asked.

Once more Sam felt entrapped by those swirling vortexes of colors. "No, I – um – I know _about_ him. We've met pagan gods before…"

"Oh – I see", the man said and turned away. Sam felt little dizzy. "Well, whatever you have heard about that brute, the reality is ten times more messy, bloody and bothersome. And my name", he continued, "is Loke. You're allowed to use it."

Sam stared at him and he could almost hear Dean's blood-pressure growing up. "But – that's impossible!" he exclaimed. "We have met Loki, he – We saw him dying!"

Loke shrugged. "It must have been one of my aliases – or Gabe. It's been a while since I've heard about him, so that's possibility – but then, he's not that easy to kill. After all, he's –"

"- Archangel Gabriel", Sam finished. "And yes, he died; Lucifer killed him." It still made him feel guilty, what had happened.

"Oh. What a pity", Loke said, rather indifferently. "He was a nice fellow."

Aziraphale had gone pale. "Gabriel is dead?!" he whispered. "How did no one ever tell me that?"

The other Crowley hesitated for a moment before pulling him into a hug. "I'm so sorry, Az", he muttered. Sam noticed, that even their Crowley – who had been sulking after being called childish by his father – was looking at the angel with little sympathy on his eyes. _Those three seem to be chummier than I thought_ , Sam wondered.

He was interrupted by Dean, who then pointed towards the stage; the auction was starting.

Beau stood up and smiled at the audience. **"Ladies, gentlemen, and… other, welcome to this once-in-a-lifetime event."** Then he seemed to hesitate a moment before looking at Loke, adding, "Is it possible for You to keep the, um, _mayhem_ under Your control during the auction?"

Loke grinned, and now Sam could see the small puncture scars crisscrossing his lips. "I can promise that if I slip, _you_ will be the first to know."

"Ah, em, that… that should be fine…" the beau stammered before he couched a little and showed the first item. **"Our first item, the amulet of Hesperus. Let's start the bidding with, um, three tons of dwarven gold?"**

Sam looked at Dean, who was also staring at him. _Three tons of gold?_ And they only had their hacked credit cards, 2 000 dollars and a _Costco membership._

 _This is not looking good…_ "Time for plan C?" he said weakly.

* * *

" **Our next item up for bid, the hammer of Thor, Mjoelnir."**

" **A finger bone from the frost giant Ymir",** a mousy-looking old man offered.

Sam could hear Loke snorting loudly, "Oh, bitch please…" before he said, loudly, "The eye of Odin, freshly fished from the Well of Urdr."

Beau turned to look at the old guy, lifting his eyebrow.

" **Uh... the bone and, uh… 5/8 of a virgin"** , he added, lifting a paper pack that looked suspiciously… bloody.

"Odin's eye _and_ Gramr, the sword of Sigurd", Loke bided. He flashed toothy smile towards the old guy, who seemed to shrink back.

Beau smiled. "Sold", he said, looking clearly relieved now that Loke had got what he wanted. _He's are afraid of him_ , Sam realized. _They all are. But why…?_

He was interrupted again by Dean, who slumped to sit beside him. " **Plan C tanked.** Now what?"

" **Maybe you should try plan "D" for dumbass"** , Crowley suggested.

" **Our next lot, the Word of God… capital "G" – very old, very rare."**

All of them straightened up.

" **Three billion dollars** ", Crowley bided offhandedly, making Sam whistle quietly.

Samandriel had also stood up. **"The** _ **Mona Lisa**_ **"** , he offered.

" **The** _ **real**_ **"Mona Lisa", where she's topless"** , Crowley added, making Sam lift his eyebrow. _The what?_

" _The Dialogue of the Saviour_ ", Aziraphale bided. "Only two copies left, and this is the readable one."

" **Vatican City"** , said Samadriel, throwing a disappointed look towards the other angel.

" **Alaska"** , Crowley shot back. Sam rolled his eyes.

" **Palin and a bridge to nowhere?** **No,** **thanks** **"** , Beau rejected.

" **All right. The moon"** , Crowley admitted.

" **You're bidding the moon?"** Dean asked, looking dumbfounded.

Crowley seemed to be ready to clarify, but Aziraphale spoke over him, "The Seal of Solomon!"

" **Ah. I'm sorry, gentlemen. It seems that our reserve price has not been met. So in order to stimulate the bidding, we're going to add an item to this lot…"** he said, pointing his finger at Kevin, **"…Kevin Tran, Prophet of the Lord!"**

"No!" Mrs. Tran shouted, as Kevin disappeared from his side and reappeared again on the stage, in chains and terrified look on his face. Sam and Dean made a move to stand up, but were pushed back down by guards.

" **Mr. Tran is the only person on Earth who can read this tablet, which makes them a perfect matching set"** , Beau presented.

" **No, stop! I'll give you whatever you want"** , Mrs. Tran begged.

" **Good effort, Ms. Tran, but I'm afraid this is a little out of your price range…"**

" **My soul."**

There was a complete silence, and Sam could hear Loke loudly whispering, "Oh, things just got an interesting turn…"

" **If it's souls that you're after, I can give you a million souls"** , Crowley remarked.

Plutus, who had mostly sat quietly during the auction, spoke out, **"It's not about the quantity, chief. It's about the sacrifice. This little lady's soul is the most valuable thing she has. It's everything. Are you willing to offer everything, Mr. Crowley?"**

Crowley looked pissed, and Sam could see very worried look starting to rise on his father's face. **"Fine. You win. I bid... my own soul!"**

Plutus laughed. **"You don't have –"** , he started, but got quickly interrupted by Crowley the Older, "Oh, no, you don't!"

"Hey, it's my soul; I can bid it if I want!" Crowley said sulkily like a child. Sam felt like someone had just dropped ton of bricks on his head: Crowley… had a soul? _Since when?_ He shared a look with his just as bewildered-looking brother.

"I didn't go through all that false paperwork with Hell to hide the fact that you didn't spent a day in the racks just so you can now sell your very soul away like it's worth of less than nothing!" Crowley's father growled.

"Oh, why don't you let the whole world to know", Crowley shot back.

"Sirs, if none of you have any higher offers…" the Beau started.

"I have!" Crowley the older answered, and took something out of his pocket. "I bid the Mundane Egg!" he said, holding out something that looked like an egg made of amber.

Dean snorted. "Yeah, tastes surely delicious with a crispy bacon", he said, but Sam did notice that the whole room had goon very silent.

"How – Why didn't you tell me you had that?" Aziraphale whispered with reverence.

"You should never but all eggs in the same basket, angel", the demon answered.

"You have a basket full of those?" the angel breathed out.

"What? No, I – You know what? Just forget it, angel", Crowley the Older sighed.

Beau shared some glances with Plutus. "Well – Seems like you have won. Congratulations, Mr. Anthony J. Crowley", he proclaimed.

Crowley the Older bowed gracefully. "Thank you, sir!" Then he saw his fuming son leaving the room. "Well, _now_ he's angry at me", he muttered before turning towards Mrs. Tran. "Now, I have no use for a prophet, so feel free to have him back."

Mrs. Tran looked both relieved and suspicious. "Free of charge?" she asked.

"One teenager is more than enough for me, madam - Manchester's sake, you saw how _well_ I just handled _this_ situation!" he proclaimed, waving towards the door of which the King of Hell had just exited.

Mrs. Tran smiled, seemingly satisfied. "I wouldn't call your son Teenager, Mr. Crowley", she commented.

"Really?" the demon asked, looking sincerely surprised.

* * *

"Look, can we just have a look at the Tabled?" Sam asked, once again, as they exited from the Warehouse.

"I'm afraid that I have to once again deny your request", Aziraphale said with a little frustration in his voice. "If a let you take a look, you'll want to use it, and that I won't allow."

"So there's some kind of demon dynamite in it, then?" Dean pressed. "Hey, come on; we're the good guys here!"

"More like nuisances", Crowley the Older muttered. "Let's go, angel; we must get that thing hidden as soon as possible!"

"Yes, of course… I hope we'll meet again, soon!" Aziraphale said before they both disappeared.

Dean kicked a trashcan. "Well, didn't that go just peachy?" he growled.

"At least Crowley didn't get it – _our_ Crowley, that's it", Sam pointed out. He looked around them: most of the participants of the auction had already left. He could see Loke talking to very big, muscular man – Thor, he supposed – before they left, dragging the old guy who had tried to buy Mjoelnir with them. Maybe he should do something; then again, that "five eights of a virgin" had to come somewhere, so the guy probably deserved what he got.

"Yeah, well – But what did they mean by Crowley still having his soul? That should be impossible!"

"It may help if your father is a demon, too", Mrs. Tran reminded. "No parent would let their child to be tormented – even if they're no longer children", she added, brushing gently her son's hair.

"I have to say, I like that older Crowley more than that smarmy bastard that we have", Dean admitted. "Don't we have any guarantee?"

Sam sniggered. "Good luck with that… Can we ride you two to home?" he asked from Kevin and his mother.

"That would be appreciated."

As they rode away, Sam had to admit that even if none of them had gotten what they wanted, things could also had gotten worse – much worse. _Maybe we can allow a little draw every now and then_ , he thought. _And knowing Crowley, we'll get our change for redemption sooner or later…_

* * *

 **AN.**

 **About the Items I added:**

 **Odin's Eye:** Norse god Odin gave up his eye so he could drank from the Well of Urdr (also Well of Wisdom).

 **Gramr:** Sigurd is hero from scandinavian mythology. Gramr is the sword he used when he killed Fafnir, the dragon.

 **Dialogue of the Saviour:** New Testament apocrypha text (c. 150 C.E.). Only known copy was found in 1945 and is partially indecipherable.

 **Seal of Solomon:** A magical ring that could imprison demons.

 **The Mundane Egg:** This one is from Neil Gaiman's craphic novel The Books of Magic #3. The Mundane Egg is very valuable, since one day it will hatch a world. 

**About Loke:**

I took the idea of Loke (another way to write Loki, which I prefer) having mismatched eyes from Helena Waris' book Vuori ("Mountain"), which sadly isn't translated in other languages. The colors of his eyes and how they change are still my own invention. In my verse, Loke is pure chaos incarnated, and he/she has know A. J. Crowley for a very long time - but that would be another spinn-off, in another time.


	11. How to Handle an Irritated Demon

The demon was pissed. That much had become clear since he had stormed in without so much as 'Hello', marched in his room and slammed the door shut behind him. Three days had passed since that – three days! – and not once had Fergus emerged in his room during the whole time.

 _Sulking_ , Bobby had thought at first, but that had been then. For someone who loved the sound of his own voice as much as Fergus, three days long silence was… well, not worrying – he wasn't worried about the demon, dammit! – but maybe little… nervous.

So nervous, actually, that he took his phone and dialed to Dean.

Dean answered right away. "Hey, Bobby! What is it?"

"So, just came to my mind… You two haven't seen Crowley around for a while, have you?"

Judging by the sounds, he had managed to get Dean to drop his cell.

It took some rustling noises before he could hear voices again; this time it was Sam.

"Bobby? Bobby, are you alright? Crowley hadn't done anything to you, has he?"

"Wha- No! Of course not, you idjits! I just… well, he has this habit to drop by every now and then – to observe his investments, he calls it – and now I haven't see him for a while so I thought that maybe he's planning something!"

It felt wrong to lie to the boys, but what else could he say? If he told them that he had the king of Hell living in his spare room, they would rush in with guns blazing.

Sam had apparently put him on loudspeaker, since Bobby cold hear Dean snorting, "More like cooling his head!"

"So, you have met him, them?" he demanded.

Sam sighed. "I suppose we should tell you, anyway – You remember the Leviathan Tablet? Well, there's more than that…"

* * *

"… So he stormed off after his dad got the Demon Tablet?"

"Yeah, that's about it", Sam said.

Bobby hummed. He really wanted to dig up his lore right now. He had never heard of that "ordinary egg" or "just an egg" or "something like that", that the boys had been talking about… Nor he did get how it was possible that a demon – the King of Hell, even – could still have a soul.

 _And that reminds me… I still don't know what to do with Fergus… I mean, he can't spend the rest of his demonic lifespan stuck in my guest room!_

On the line, Sam couched, forcing Bobby to focus on him. "Bobby, we have been talking… You know that now that the Leviathans are gone, you don't need to stay on your hideout anymore? I know that your house got kind of – blown away – but you could still rebuild it, or rent a new one somewhere little closer to civilization…?"

"Yeah, you're becoming a hermit there", Dean added.

Bobby went silent. At first, during the first weeks of his "exile", he had known that it would be only temporary, that sooner or later he would be back in business. Then Fergus had come along, and he had become accustomed by his new lifestyle. So accustomed, that he hadn't even bothered to think about it, before now…

"I'll… I'll think about it", he said, hesitatingly.

"Bobby…" Sam started.

"I said I'll think about it! Dammit, boys! I'm not senile yet, so stop pushing me about it!"

The line went silent. Bobby sighed, rubbed his face and started again, now calmer, "Sorry, sorry… I just… I enjoy it here, boys. I know it secluded and quiet, but… I've never been the most… outgoing person there is."

After a moment, Dean answered, "There is a difference between being antisocial and a complete hermit, you know."

"I'm not a hermit!" Bobby denied.

"Really?" Sam questioned. "Then when was the last time you talked with someone… face to face and not by phone, that's it."

 _I would be doing that right now if somebodies hadn't gone and pissed off my demon_ , he thought, little bitterly.

"Well, that's complicated", he answered, and could have bitten his tongue after that. _Well, that just came out perfectly!_

"What you mean, "complicated"?" Dean pressed on. "You haven't started to talk furniture's or something?"

"Are you nuts? No, I haven't gone mental! I just… we'll, I did mention that Crowley used to visits every now and then?"

"… That's it, we're coming there", Dean said.

"No way, you idjits! …Look, he just pops up sometimes, snarks around a bit and puffs out, and that's it! I… You asked me when I last talked with someone, dammit!"

The line peeped.

"… Balls."

* * *

"Fergus? Fergus, open the door!"

Bobby was banging the door of his guest room. Like always, the demon refused to answer.

"Fergus, dammit! The boys are coming, I need to get you out of my house!"

The door opened, revealing rather spent and weary-looking demon standing there. "So what's the problem, luv? Afraid to reveal your lover boy to the boys?" he said with a poisonous voice.

"No time for this, Fergus", Bobby sighed. "Look, I'm just asking you to pop out for a moment so I can get rid of them _peacefully_ , without you to complicate everything with your snide comments and all."

"Oh, my knight in flannel shirt… And just _where_ should I pop out? You _really_ expect to me show up in the Hell _looking_ like a hell?!"

"Um… I thought… You could visit your father…?"

Fergus' face darkened even more. "Forget it", he answered, and went to close the door.

"Wait!" Bobby cried out, and grabbed his arm. "Listen, I understand! You're angry because you didn't get that Demon Tablet or whatever, but is that really worth of all this… sulking and staying buried inside your room? Aren't that little too like something a teenage girl would do?"

Fergus eyes flashed red. " _You. Understand._ _Nothing!_ " he hissed.

"Then _explain_ it to me!" Bobby hissed back.

"He chose his angel over me!"

"… He what now?"

"He gave the Tablet to his angel! He even used the Mundane Egg to buy it, and then just handed it over to him!" Fergus vented.

"By what the boys told me, it was more like he chose the world over you", Bobby commented.

Fergus snorted. "Whatever."

Bobby tilted his head. "You really are a brat, aren't you?"

"Piss off, Singer!"

"And now we're back to Singer, then…? Clearly you've some serious attitude problems…"

Fergus' eyes gleamed murderously. "You're really trying to make me hurt you, aren't you?"

"Your father –"

"Shut it about my father!" Fergus shouted, making the walls grumble a bit.

"Okay, that's it", Bobby muttered, and pulled Fergus out of the door and into the demon trap he had drawn just front of it. The grumbling eased instantly.

"Oh, you gotta be kidding me!" Fergus raged.

"Now, let's start again… You're angry, I get that. But you can't be that god dammit moron that you really expect that your father would sacrifice the whole entire world just so you could have a nice new toy to play with?!"

"It's not only about that!" Fergus shouted back.

"Then what is it, you idjit?!"

"The Mundane Egg!"

"…And that is…?"

"Are you always this dull or are you just trying extra hard today?" Fergus growled.

 _Why you little…_

"Never heard about cosmic egg?" Fergus hissed out. "The egg that from the whole world was hatched out? Well, that's what the Mundane Egg is – a world that doesn't yet exist."

Bobby felt his eyes go little wide. "That sound kind of… expensive thing, right?"

Fergus nodded. "It is – way more expensive than even the Demon Tablet."

"I see… and that makes you angry because…?"

"Because father could have used it earlier! He could have ended the whole auction with just that one item – to use it to buy the whole building and everything inside it! - and he only used it after I'd make a clown of myself and offered to _bid my soul away_ and then just gave the Tablet to his angel like it was _nothing at all!_ " Fergus shouted and glared at him.

Bobby stared at the demon. "You're kidding me, right?" As Fergus just continued to glare, he sighed again. "No way… Look, now: Did it – even once – come to your mind that _maybe_ your father wouldn't had bid the Egg _at all_ if you hadn't been so _stupid_ and actually tried to sell your soul away – again? The soul that you, by the way, shouldn't even own – and don't you think that I'm not going to question you over it later!"

"I wasn't going to sit down and let your boys to get their hands on the Demon Tablet!" Fergus growled.

"You think you had any chances in the first place?!" Bobby shouted back. "Dammit, Fergus, if your father had the… the Mundane Egg on his pocket all time, then certainly he had other items he could have offered and still won Mrs. Tran's bidding! He had it all under control. But then you go and bid your soul - You scared him, you moron!" _You would had scared me, too_ …

Fergus had gotten silent. It was clear that the demon was pondering about what he had just said. "Oh."

" _'Oh'_ , indeed! …Listen, have you calmed down, yet? Cause I still really need to get you out of the house before the boys get here, and I've no clue how soon that will be!"

Fergus shot him a little surprised look, like he had managed to forget where he stood for a moment. "Ah… sure. I have it under control."

"…Good." Bobby scathed a little hole in the trap and Fergus stepped out, looking at it with disdain.

"You better get that scrubbed off before I return", he muttered.

Bobby sighed. "Yeah, yeah… Anything else now that we are at it, your highness?"

"Hmmm… No, nothing special…" there was a little light in Fergus eyes that promised troubles. "Only… this." And then the demon grabbed Bobby on his shoulders and planted his lips firmly over the hunter's mouth, kissing him quite thoroughly. Bobby felt his eyes go wild, and then starting to close up, as he began to answer it…

"Hey!" someone shouted, and then there were his boys and Castiel, standing behind them and looking rather disturbed – well, Castiel looked mostly puzzled, but he was _Castiel_ , so that was kind of expected.

Fergus laughed and Bobby turned to glare at him.

"Have fun to try and explain _that_ to them", the demon purred, and waved his hand to their audience before puffing out.

Bobby glanced towards his boys. Sam had his disapproving look, and Dean clearly gathered his strengths to start a shouting match. Castiel kept staring at him, but now he looked less puzzled and more like… intrigued?

Bobby had no time to ponder this, since Dean had now got himself prepared.

"Care to explain WHAT THE HELL was that!?"

Balls.

* * *

Same time in London, one Anthony J. Crowley opened his apartment's door and saw his son standing there, holding out a bottle of expensive-looking wine like a peace offering.

It went without saying that either the auction or the Demon Tablet would never be mentioned again.


	12. Temptation in Process

He ringed the door-bell – which he didn't usually do, since he preferred just "pop" in, but this time it felt like a decent thing to do – and smirked as his hunter opened, squinting at him grumpily.

"Oh, Bobby! Such a sight you are", Fergus greeted. "I see that Squirrel and Moose didn't get you locked up in the closest mental hospital's security ward…"

"Well they certainly were ready to do that, you asshole", Bobby grumbled, making Fergus smirk even wider.

"Oh, I just came and you're already talking about my butt", he said with a lewd voice as he squeezed himself in.

Bobby sighed, but moved aside to make Fergus more room. Clearly he had learned by now that the demon just couldn't help being a cheeky bastard.

"Did you really have to shock the boys like that?" he asked.

"Oh, don't be silly, darling", Fergus said airily. "How _did_ you explain that little encounter, anyway?"

Bobby shrugged. "I told them that I summoned you here to ask couple questions, and then opened the demon trap to release you and then you kissed me out of spite."

"Oh, I'm certain I looked really _spiteful_ when we we're at it", Fergus pointed out, pursing his lips in to a pout.

"Well, they had their doubts, too, but since Castiel could confirm that I hadn't sold you my soul or made any other deals… They weren't exactly happy with the situation, but I told them to let it rest."

"Pardon me being skeptical here, but when ever have Winchesters let _anything_ to rest?"

Bobby scowled. "Okay, so I spent whole day explaining them that I haven't gone senile and I can take care of my own business."

"So I'm _your business_ , am I now?" Fergus said playfully. He smirked as Bobby sighed and started to rub his forehead.

There was something special in the way that he could play around with the old hunter. He couldn't do it with his demons – he was their king, they had no right to show frustration or exasperation towards him – and Winchesters could stand him playing around only so far, and they they became aggressive. Castiel was totally different case, and his reactions could be delightful, but only because he took his comments too seriously, if he even understood them in the first place. Aziraphale, like Cas, often missed the point, and as his reproaching impression was stuff from the nightmares, Fergus knew to not try his luck with the angel.

As for his father, he gave as good as he got, and as much as it was nice to have someone like that around, he still preferred it more if it was the two of them against someone else than just he against him.

Bobby, instead… Bobby seemed to understand when Fergus was playing bastard just the sake of it, and didn't get too worked up because of it. Oh, he could grumble and frown and maybe call him on few names, but he never threatened to use Holy water on him or lock him inside the demon trap if he got too annoying. In few cases, when Fergus had gone way over his head, he had just left the house to do some work on the yard, maybe fixing his cars, until he had his temper under the control again.

 _It's like he's treating me as if I was a human_ , Fergus pondered. The thought made him feel little stunned, and he smiled almost fondly at Bobby as he said, "But at least they must have believed you, since I haven't yet been summoned by angry Winchesters to be questioned about corrupting their dear old papa." As Bobby scowled, he hurried to continue, "Oh, don't bother to argue me here, love: they _do_ see you as their father figure. And why not? You would have been a perfect father to someone."

Bobby snorted. "Yeah, because drunkards always make good daddies."

Fergus frowned. "You aren't drunkard. And besides", he added, trying to sound indifferent, "You couldn't possible have been worse than I was. I mean, I beat my son, I belittled him, I quite frankly told him that I hated him and hoped that he'd never been born." He shrugged. "What I can say? I had lousy childhood."

Bobby looked at him with storm in his eyes. "Which makes it kinda clear that people with messed up parents should never had kids on their own, because they will just treat them just us badly as they were treated."

"Hey, at least I never tried to sell him away!" Fergus exclaimed, feeling offended – or was it guiltiness…?

Bobby seemed little taken aback by that. "…Sell away?"

Internally cursing himself for revealing too much, Fergus smiled, apparently unconcernedly, and shrugged his shoulders. "She wanted three pigs in change. _Three_ , can you believe it? She should had asked at least five… Damn, I was pretty child, and could juggle…"

"How old were you?" Bobby asked, and for a moment, Fergus almost hated him for the sympathy on his voice. But only almost.

"Who cares? It was long time ago."

"I see." And Fergus knew that Bobby indeed _did_ see, many things that the demon would liked to keep hidden. "No wonder you're such an asshole, then."

"Why, thank you", Fergus sais, and as he still thought that there was too much of what seemed to be pity in the hunter's eyes, he continued, "And all things considering, even if I happened to have a lousy mother, I think that my father certainly makes it up, don't you think?"

Bobby hummed. It was painfully clear that there was lots of things he wanted to ask about, but he didn't, and Fergus felt like he could kiss him for it.

And so he did.

He had kissed Bobby earlier – that one kiss to seal the deal, when Bobby had used tongue even if he didn't have to (and which Fergus still had photo of) – many playful kisses on Bobby's cheek which the hunter had always quickly wiped off – and, of course, the kiss from few days back, which Winchester had seen. This kiss, thought, was different, since Fergus wasn't playing games or fooling around. This was about of… gratefulness. Of appreciation. Of something that was growing up in the pit of Fergus' stomach, or maybe in his chest, and which couldn't be what it felt like since he was a demon, dammit!

Like last time, Bobby again took moment to realize what was happening, and then, just like last time, he started to answer it. And as they weren't interrupted this time, they only broke apart when Bobby needed to breathe.

"What was that for?" Bobby asked breathily. His face was red, but he didn't look horribly embarrassed or disgusted by himself, which Fergus was relived about.

Now there was millions of ways Fergus could have answered to that, some of them snarky, others disturbingly genuine. "What you want it to be?" was what he said, and he wasn't all that sure of in which category that belonged to.

Bobby shook his head. "Never one for straight answers, are you?" he grouched, but his voice was gentle, and just as gentle was his touch as he lifted Fergus chin and initiated another kiss between them.

This was first time the hunter took a lead, and Fergus felt little stunned by it. _Oh, so this is how it feels like, he thought_ , before closing his eyes and surrendering to the odd, warm feeling, growing rapidly inside him.

At some point they had started to become more touchy-feely with each other; nothing obscene, mind you, just few innocent caresses – _very vanilla_ , Fergus would had commented, if his lips and tongue weren't been too busy at the moment. But when Fergus' hand on Bobby's stomach started to sidle downwards, he was abruptly stopped. Little taken aback and maybe even offended, Fergus opened his eyes to glare at the hunter, but stopped after seeing his rather flustered and agitated look.

"Oh. Too soon?" he guessed.

Bobby nodded. "Too soon." He was clearly trying to gather his bearings.

"…I see", Fergus admitted, berating himself for feeling forlorn by that. _So the hunter doesn't want to rock your bones, big deal!_ But as he started to pull away, Bobby instantly hugged him closer, baffling Fergus by his actions.

"Now hold your horses! I didn't mean that I don't… want to or something", Bobby said and, judged by blush, made his embarrassment increased rapidly. "I just… I need some time to sort things out, okay? I have never even thought that I could feel – attraction – towards another man… who, on top of that, just happens to be a demon, for god's sake! So… can we just take things slower? Please", he added, as Fergus just stared at him.

 _If you want to go any slower, you should had just stayed in coma back then_ , Fergus' brains commented smartly, but he hardly paid any attention to his rational mind since the other voice – which didn't came from his heart, he was a demon, he didn't have one, dammit! – begged him to _be patient, hasn't it been so nice to spent time with him, are you just going to throw it all away because of something as trivial as sex?_ Disturbingly, it sounded little bit like Aziraphale. _Seriously - Is he's my Jiminy Cricket, now?_

Chasing all those voices away, Fergus sighed and tilted his head a bit. The look he gave to Bobby was little challenging. "And how are you going to maintain my interest for time being? Don't get me wrong, Bobby, I enjoy your company, but if it takes you too long I might just have to look my entertainments elsewhere…"

To answer for that, Bobby smirked at him – in a quite predatory way, which made pleasurable shivers rush down along Fergus' spine – and said, "I'll figure out something." And as they kissed again, Fergus thought that maybe it wouldn't be too much of stretch to wait some more… After all, Bobby was pleasant company…

… And any man who could kiss like _that_ should be worth of waiting for!


	13. We Should Meet Your Boyfriend

"Winchesters apparently captured Abaddon", Fergus told to his father and Aziraphale.

"Abaddon? The knight of Hell, you mean? Strange, I haven't heard about her in years. I thought she was goner", Anthony said.

Fergus shrugged. "It's Winchesters – they always cause problems." He took another cookie – _biscuit_ , he reminded himself. True, as a demon he didn't require food, but these were darn good. "Besides, the boys spouted something about time-travelling. Their grandpa got caught between rock and a hard place with Abaddon and tried to avoid his impending doom by jumping forward in time."

"Sounds risky", said Aziraphale as he poured more tea in his cup.

"Sounds Winchester", Fergus answered. "It seems that grandpa Winchester belonged in some kind of secret society or something…"

"Wait – what society?" Aziraphale said quickly. Two other's stared at him, feeling surprised – the angel didn't usually interrupt anyone.

"It was called Bookmen or something – No, wait it was Men of -"

"Men of Letters", Aziraphale finished, looking little tense.

There was sputtering noise coming from Fergus father. "Them? Are the boys same flock as those fundamentalist?"

"Oh, no no no – not the _British_ Men of Letters; though even they didn't use to be as militarized back then. No, the Men of Letters from American branch were more keen to follow the old code: to seek and preserve knowledge." He smiled little wistfully. "I let them made copies of some of my books. They were good-mannered boys, never left any marks or stains to manuscripts - It was such a shame that they were all wiped out…"

"And it sounds like it was Abaddon who did the bloody job", Fergus summed up. "So, anything else that would be useful for me to know about this? I mean, sooner or later boys are going to cause me more troubles, and I would like to know where the punchline lays beforehand."

Aziraphale bite his lip. "That depends on how much they know. Men of Letters had this bunker somewhere in Kansas, but they kept its exact location hidden even from me. That's where they preserved their books and other items, so if Winchesters now know about it -"

"- then who knows what they will next decide to do to endanger us all", Fergus grumbled.

His father patted him on the shoulder. "Is it really going to be that bad? Here I thought that things were getting better between you all."

"Well, sure – as long as we aren't in the same room at the same time. They're already little surly with me due how close I've gotten with their "papa" – I'm just waiting the shoe drop when they realize how "close" we're actually getting…"

Anthony beamed at him. "So it is official now? You two are dating?"

Fergus rolled his eyes. "Father, please. We're not "dating", that's for teenagers. And it's still far from official."

"But you're in… relationship, aren't you?" his father insisted.

"… Well, maybe you could call it pseudo-relationship, if you want", Fergus admitted. Father seemed to be rather invested into this little fling he was having with Bobby, so he could as well humble him. "But seriously, we haven't even get to sex yet, so please don't start planning weddings yet."

Aziraphale frowned. "I thought that sexual intercourses are _supposed_ to start happening only after the wedding."

"Stop that, you start to look like Castiel. That was something that he could have said", Fergus grumbled. "How is he, by the way? Last time we met, I had to take a quick exit."

"Oh, that dear boy is still busy for trying to fix up everything that happened during his brief career as a god", Aziraphale explained. "He feels so guilty about everything… I wish I could help, but just now all I can do is try to keep him away from heaven."

That beaked Fergus' attention. "Oh? Troubles in La-La-Land?"

"You could say so… It seems like they're slipping towards civil war. I fear that all sides are very unpleased with Castiel right now, so it wouldn't be safe for him to get messed up into this… um, mess."

"I see." That sounded interesting – now he only needed to find out how to get some profit from it. "Any idea who are in lead on those fractions?"

Aziraphale frowned. "Why do I have this feeling that you're planning something?" he asked suspiciously.

Anthony laughed. "Because he's my son; he's always planning on something", he proudly proclaimed. "But let's not talk about business; tell me, Fergus – when are you going to invite your boyfriend over here?"

Fergus gaped at his father. "You're joking." As his father eyes didn't waver, he felt himself go white. "You aren't joking. You want me to invite Bobby Singer here? What is this, some kind of meet my parents -gesture?"

"Well, I've gotten the impression that is pretty normal for parents to want to meet their child's significant other."

"You have already met him! Besides, this is twenty-first century, there's no need for that anymore! And I'm an adult man and a demon, not some teenager girl for Hells sake!"

"Common courtesy never dies", Aziraphale counselled.

Anthony nodded. "And where's the problem, anyway? As you say, we've already met him and we know he's a good man. We only want to tell him that we've nothing against him and that his very welcome to court you –"

"There's no courting included in this!"

"– but if he ever hurts you, he will have to answer to us for that."

"I'm king of freaking Hell, father! There's no way that he could harm me!" _Well, there's many ways, actually; he's a hunter, after all… But he wouldn't, at least not before fair warning._

"There are many kinds of "hurt", dear", Aziraphale reminded him kindly.

"We just want to make sure he understands how important you are to us", Anthony continued.

Fergus smiled a little. His father may had said that he was "important", but from his voice he could hear the unsaid word "loved". Even though he had once declared that feeling for his son, it didn't mean that he had to use it all the time – they were demons, after all.

"And wouldn't it be fun to go on one of those "double dates"?" Aziraphale added. "We've never have those before."

"Well, none of my earlier affairs have been the sort you would take anywhere near of your parents", Fergus admitted. "… Alright, alright; I'll ask Bobby to attend. When and where?"

"Would Ritz be proper?" Aziraphale asked.

"I think that would be little _too_ proper for Bobby; maybe some pub would be enough? I wouldn't want to scare him away by forcing him act like a civilized human being…"

Anthony nodded. "Yes, that would be too much… Now there was this one place that I once ate the most delicious cottage pie…"

 _Well, maybe this won't be as disastrous as I first feared,_ Fergus thought as his "parents" continued their planning. _Now I only need to get Bobby to volunteer in this… Yeah, that will be a hell of a job to do…!_


	14. It's Like Being a Teenager Again

"Tell me again – how on earth did you manage to talk me into this?" Bobby grumbled. Fergus, who had been fixing hunter's tie, raised his head and smirked a bit.

"Because, and this is quote, you got "tired of you bitching about it, so fine, I'll do it if it makes you shut up, you damn demon". Which is wrong, by the way: I wasn't bitching."

Bobby snorted. "Yeah, right… You totally were."

"I wasn't", Fergus denied absentmindedly as he took a step back to admire his handwork. "Not bad… You're actually looking more like a man and less like a bear today", he recommended.

"I have used a suit before, you know."

"At work, yes – and it made you look like you had just came from funerals", Fergus said and leaned up to press light kiss on the corner of Bobby's mouth. "Now, you look _almost_ handsome… If only you could keep your mouth shut, you would almost pass as a civilized human being."

"Very funny", Bobby muttered, but there was fondness in his voice. "…There's no way out of this anymore?"

Fergus chuckled. "Like there ever was! Besides, you have already met them both before – heck, you even like my father – so where's the problem?"

"This still feels too much like when I was a teenager and went to fetch some girl on date from her home… Not even mention of when I went to meet Karen's family…!"

"Chill, love… It's not like my father's going to bite you – Aziraphale wouldn't let him! …But seriously: You've nothing to worry about."

Bobby sighed. "I just hope that this will be over soon…"

"Same here… Ready to go, then?"

"This is probably as ready as I can get", Bobby answered and offered his hands. Fergus took them into his owns, giving encouraging squeeze, and puffed them away.

* * *

"Well, it doesn't look all that bad…" Bobby commented as they stood outside of a pub that looked just a little bit too expensive for him to be completely easy with it, but not too much.

"Yeah", Fergus answered, and it was clear that he was at least as nervous as Bobby was.

"Feeling jumpy?" Bobby asked.

Fergus shot an irritated look at him. "Why would I be?"

"Right… Let's go in, then."

Bobby took one step ahead, but was sopped by Fergus' hand quickly grapping his arm. "Wait! Just…" the demon seemed to have problems to use his vocabulary. "Just… don't let them overwhelm you. They can be little… _strange_ sometimes – Well, most of the time – but… They mean well, so don't get too shocked if they say or do something way out of the concept…"

Bobby had never seen Fergus being skittish before – he had hardly even imagined that the demon could be anything but self-confident. To see him like this, it was kind of… cute. _I didn't just think him being cute!_

"It seems that I'm not the only one feeling himself as a teenager today…" he said with a chuckle. "Don't worry, I've faced worse things than a slightly embarrassing parents in my life."

"Oh, and I thought that it was you who were being a nervous wreck just a little time ago…" Fergus grumbled.

Bobby shrugged. "Well one of us needs to grow some balls or we're never getting in there", he answered. Since the demon still gave no sings of moving forward, Bobby gathered his spunk and took his hand, starting to lead them towards the door. Feeling his face heat, he avoided to look at Fergus, but could imagine his bewildered expressing.

 _Whatever, the sooner we get in the sooner it's over and we can return home and never talk about this again_ , he thought vehemently.

* * *

"Ah, you're here!" Aziraphale greeted happily as Bobby and Fergus joined them at the table. "We started to think that you wouldn't be able to come!"

"I told you that they would", Anthony reminded him and stood up to hug his son. "It's good to see you", he said simply, before turning to offer Bobby his hand. "As I've already introduced myself before, I wont repeat it now, but maybe this time you would find it okay to shake hands?" he said with a smirk, and Bobby remembered their first meeting.

Feeling sheepish, Bobby shook hands with Fergus' father and then with Aziraphale, who also took the opportunity to properly introduce himself. Bobby meet Fergus' gaze and smiled as the other rolled his eyes.

They sat down, and soon came a waiter to take their order. They all decided to take cottage pie, and Antony and Aziraphale ordered few bottles of wine. Fergus took Craig, and Bobby, while feeling himself rather boorish, asked beer.

"So", started Anthony, and turned to look at Bobby, "how have you been? No lasting impacts due your visit on the death's door?"

"I've been fine", Bobby answered. "Though I might have gain a little weight; your son has a knack on cooking." He felt Fergus nudge him on the ribs in a way that probable meant, 'stop babbling'.

Aziraphale smiled. "Really? Oh, that's wonderful, Fergus! Maybe you could some time help me with my muffins; they still aren't quite… right."

"That, angel, is because you insist on cooking and reading at the same time", Anthony pointed out. "Besides, haven't I asked you to leave the kitchen to me?"

"But that would hardly be fair, my dear!" Aziraphale insisted.

"You could always help by doing the dishes", Fergus said.

"That's not the same!"

"We don't even need to eat…", Anthony muttered, but then the waiter came back with their drinks. Food came soon after, and for a while, they all focused on their dinner. Bobby felt himself to relax. _The food is great, and so far no-one has said or done anything embarrassing. Maybe we will survive from this…_

"So, are you two planning on starting your own family in future?" Aziraphale asked innocently, making Fergus, who had just took another bite from his pie, almost choke on it.

… _Or maybe we will all die here_ , Bobby thought as he patted Fergus' back.

"Angel! They've just started dating", Anthony chastised his partner. "I doubt they're even having sex just yet."

"Oh… Right…", Aziraphale said and looked a little apologetic.

"Don't say things like that without warning", Fergus snapped. He had managed to caught his breath, but his face looked suspiciously red. Bobby would had leered at that, had his own face haven't been glowing just as much.

"I'm very sorry, dear! We're just… Well, we've been…"

"What the angel tries to say is that we're just very happy that Fergus has found someone who can take his snark", Anthony explained, "and that's why we hope that things will continue to thrive between you two."

Bobby felt flustered by this.

"Fine, fine", Fergus admitted. "But please, can we not talk about _marriages?_ And father, I beg you, never use word "sex" like that when talking with me!"

Anthony seemed surprised. "Why? You certainly had never showed any aversion of using it."

"That's totally different thigh – Bobby, don't you dare to laugh at me!"

He couldn't help it – the situation was just so uncommon; King of Hell blushing like an embarrassed teenager whose parents are acting like dorks in front of his friends. _If I just could take a picture of this… Then again, he would probably kill me for that…_

"Sorry, sorry… It's just… It's cute when behave like human!" Bobby managed to say between his chuckles. He could see them looking at him; Fergus was seemingly dumbfounded, Aziraphale smiled happily and Anthony looked… pleased.

After that their conversation moved into safer topics. Fergus started to prattle about improvements he was planning to carry out in Hell, making Bobby snort every time his goals seemed to be getting out of hand. Anthony also listened attentively and even pointed out few counter proposals.

"I'm happy to see that you've been finding out methods of torment that aren't as… tormenting", Aziraphale commented with a bright smile. Bobby found it hard to think out anything more tormenting than an endless queue, but decided to not say anything about it. Anthony clearly noticed that and smirked at him; the older demon seemed to understand humans just as well as his formerly-human son did.

Which didn't make him feel any better when Anthony turned towards his son and said, "I would like to talk a moment with your Bobby – alone", he added, pointedly, as he probably knew that as far as eavesdropping goes, Fergus had no shame.

"You're planning to say something horribly embarrassing, aren't you?" Fergus whined, but didn't start to argue. "Well, at least I won't have to hear it. Just please don't scare him off? I kind of like this one…" He gave to Bobby a reassuring smile.

Bobby grunted. "I'm not that easy to fright, you idjit", he said, making Anthony laugh a bit.

"See? We're fine. And don't let Aziraphale drink too much, he's gotten this now habit of getting… giggly when his drunk!" That said, Anthony lead Bobby at pub's terrace.

* * *

"So", Anthony started, "it's been nice evening, right?"

"Yeah", Bobby admitted, and tried to stay cool while his hands were getting sweaty. "Nice place, too; there's nothing like this in America…"

Anthony nodded. "It's been there over 400 years… I still remember when it first opened like it was yesterday; still it's older than my son." His voice was little slurred, so Bobby guessed that he, too, had needed little extra courage before this conversation. It made him feel slightly better. "Maybe that's why I find it hard to see him as an adult; because I've lived so much longer. Tell me, have you… Has Fergus ever told you how we met?"

Bobby shrugged. "Not much; I try to not pry."

Anthony smiled at him. "Admirable man… No wonder he likes you so. And you're quite fond of him, too, aren't you?"

Bobby had expected that, but still it took him by surprise. "I… I think I am", he said. "I enjoy his company; he can be fitty and funny, when he wants to."

Anthony nodded. "Aren't that true… But as well as you know _who_ he is, you know _what_ he is. Can you accept that - That he's a demon?" He took off his sunglasses, and the eyes that looked into Bobby's eyes were searching, calculating…

Bobby swallowed. "I can live with it. To be honest, at first I had my doubts… I know what he is, and can reckon what kind of deeds he has had to commit to get where he is now. I know he's no saint… But I don't want lose him, so I can tolerate it… Though maybe I'm just being selfish…"

"Nothing bad in being a little selfish every now and then", Anthony assured, before sighing. "You're a good man, Bobby Singer. That makes it easier, for me, to trust you with my son. He's not a good person, but his not unredeemable, either… and he's dear to me."

Bobby shifted his legs; damn, he wasn't good at these chick flick moments… "Is this the moment when you promise to kill me if I ever hurt him?" he asked, only half joking.

Anthony chuckled. "You probably know that already… Just… Be patient with him, okay? His not good with all this "feelings" stuff – but then again, it seems that neither are you! Maybe that's why you two get along so well…" After that, he stood quietly for a while, and Bobby started already go nervous before Anthony spoke again. "I wasn't there when he was a child; he lived a whole lifetime that I had no part in."

"The last time we met you kind of implied that you didn't know about him", Bobby pointed out.

"That's only an excuse. My son was being miserable; how was it possible for me to not know? Surely I should have been able to sense it, somehow…" He turned to look at Bobby. "When we first met, he was a complete wreck. The reality of selling his soul had just caught him up, and he really didn't want to die. I… I recognized him right away, even if we were never met each other; I know he was mine. My son…"

Bobby wasn't sure if he should be listening this or not. If Fergus had wanted him to know this, he would have told; on the other hand, he really wanted to know more.

"I did what I could: I sent the hellhounds away, took him to Aziraphale… We spent days buried into his books while Fergus drank everything he could find and threw me with every hard obstacles he get into his hands. He was angry, at that time, and probably feeling betrayed…"

"…What did you do, then?" Bobby asked.

Anthony chuckled bitterly. "I took his soul."

Bobby blinked his eyes. "What?"

"I took his soul, contained it and hid it away", Anthony explained. "I did some fake paperwork, made it look like he had been properly initiated to Hell. _Then_ I went to Hell and plead with Lilith – You've heard about _her_ , right? – and after getting some favors from me, she took my new _protégée_ under her wing."

Bobby was honestly baffled. "But… why? Wasn't there other options, some that wouldn't had required you to make him into a demon?"

Anthony shook his head. "Who knows? But we were running out of time. I thought that as long as his soul was safe, there would still be possibility to fix it later… But I underestimated how corruptive Hell is. If I gave him back his soul, now, it would hurt him immensely. Besides, it was safer for him that way, considering…" at that point, his voice lowered into a mumbling.

"Wait, wait… There's lot I don't get, but… Weren't demons supposed to be just corrupted human souls? If Fergus' soul is contained, then… From what has he made of?"

Anthony tilted his head. "You're a man who knows lore, aren't you? Then you know that in ancient times, many people have thought that every human possess three souls, or that the soul is combination of three parts: breath, mind and the third one… let's call it spirit. Well, the breath is easy; it's same as breathing, and after you die, it's simply gone. Now, mind is your… self-awareness, your thoughts and personality. It's what makes you… well, you. But spirit… it's the closest thing to what comes in to your mind when you think about eternal soul. It's like your shadow; a part of you that you can live without, but that kind of life would be empty and shallow, almost emotionless. This much clear?"

Bobby nodded slowly. "That's something like in shamanism, isn't it?"

Anthony smirked. "One of the oldest religions… Well, I didn't so much took Fergus' whole soul, just the third part of it; his _spirit_. The rest of him, since the breath has left the body, is his _mind_ , and that's the part I made into a demon. Most demons are forged of from the combination of mind and spirit, so the difference isn't all that huge."

"That reminds me of Sam… the younger Winchester. He lost his soul in Hell, but could still function, act like before… but he was cold and uncaring."

Anthony nodded. "That's exactly what I'm talking about: when you lost your spirit, you're still you, and you continue doing things that you did before, but you don't really care about anything or anyone. As in Fergus' case, his mind and spirit are still linked together, even though the link is fragile", he explained.

"But is he even a real demon, then? I mean…"

"He's a demon, now. Should he ever take his soul – spirit – back, that would be a different case." Anthony sighed. "But I doubt that that would be wise – like I said, it would be painful for him."

"But if he wanted?" Bobby pressed on.

Anthony shot a fierce look at him. "Then I would do anything I could to help him to archive that."

Bobby nodded. "Well, it's not like he's unhappy with how things are right now", he admitted. "And for what I know about his past, he could actually be a better man now than what he was back then – probably because of you."

He had hoped to lighten things up, and clearly succeed in it, since Anthony laughed a little and then put his sunglasses back, patting Bobby on the shoulder. "You're a good man – but I said that already, didn't I? Now I'm going to sober up and then we should go back to those two, before Fergus starts to think that I killed you and am now burying your body somewhere!"

Sobering up was seemingly easy thing to do for a fallen angel, since as soon as Anthony had said that, the slur in his voice lessened.

* * *

"Time to sober up, angel!" Anthony said as soon as they get back to the table.

Fergus shot up immediately and looked back and forth between them. "You didn't say anything too over-the-top, did you, father? Bobby, say he didn't act like some dad in some stupid sitcom…"

Bobby put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "It's fine; we had a chick flick moment and we bonded over how much we both like your snarky self."

Fergus frowned. "Please don't tell me he started to weep or anything… Anyway, ready to head back to home? Since I think that that's where Aziraphale should be…"

Bobby glanced at the angel, who kept trying to kiss Anthony while the blushing demon tried to get him stand up. "So it seems… Should we at least help them home first?"

"You're being a real gentleman today, aren't you? …Well, if you're okay with staying over to drink a cup of tea while Aziraphale – if father get him sober up – tries to show you all his books, then it's fine with me."

Bobby shared another look at their company – Aziraphale had managed to get them both fell on the floor, and Anthony was cursing rather colorfully – and then looked back to his demon. "I've got nothing against that."


	15. Hell, Demons and Hellhounds

Three days.

Every time when one of his phones made a noise, Bobby almost rushed to answer it; and every time he heard the voice of just one another hunter, he wanted to shout at them to stay out of his lines. Of course he didn't, but every time he answered the call and the voice from the other side of the line didn't belong to Fergus, he felt new pang of anxiousness.

It had been three days since the demon had last time contacted him – and even if it wasn't all that long time (his boys could go weeks without one single call), considering that Fergus had already been practically living with him, it was… worrying. Bobby wasn't used to be worried about his… whatever-they-were, nowadays, so it was starting to get on his nerves.

So when his cell rang, he really didn't have very high hopes – especially when he read words "unknown number" – and was thrown little out of balance when he heard all too familiar voice greeting him.

"Hello, Bobby. What are you wearing?"

"Where the hell have you been?" Bobby almost growled.

Fergus let out a little laugh, which sounded kind of bitter. "Precisely there – and you know, it has never been as hellish as it's now."

That got Bobby's attention. "Has something happened?" Another thought filled his mind, and he continued quickly, "Are you alright?"

"Mmmm, I've been better… But do not worry about it."

"I'm not "worrying"! …Where are? Why did you call, instead of just coming over here?"

"… I think it would be the best for both of us if I wouldn't "come over" for a some time", Fergus replied, and there was a thin layer of unsureness in his voice.

"What are you meaning with that?" Bobby practically yelled.

"Bobby, there's a reason why I'm calling to you using a stolen cellphone! Things have gone very difficult down there; Abaddon – the one who Rocky and Bullwinkle captured? – has somehow escaped, now now she's leading a riot against me! She has even gotten some Dukes of Hell in her side – they never liked me all that much, especially this weasel called Hastur – and now I'm in exile!"

"All the more reason for you to get your ass here, then!"

"Missing my ass, are you? Well, it is in a good shape…"

"Focus, you idjit!" Bobby grumbled, happy that Fergus couldn't see him blushing… though he probably know that he would be.

"Love you too, darling… But seriously, Bobby: I'm not dragging you into this. Same goes to my father and Aziraphale, too; I won't be putting you on the harm's way."

Bobby started to walk around in his study; he really wanted to kick something – Abaddon, most likely, but Fergus too would deserve few punches for writing him out as some pussy. "I can take care of myself!"

"You're sweet, Bobby… But that's clearly the problem. If I get you into this, you'll end up doing something both brave and stupid and… Well, just remember what almost happened with Dick Roman… or that slut, Meg…"

"Going to remind me of all my failures, aren't you…? So tell me, then, oh your highness, where are you planning to crawl into hiding, if not here?" Bobby asked little acidly.

"I think I'm going to make Winchesters to carry on some burdens off their own messes – I mean, it's them who either didn't captive that bitch securely enough, or then they let her escape due some stupidity… Either way, I heard that they now have this fancy bunker in Kansas. I should really to go and say hello…"

"And you think they will just let you in? The king of Hell? Inside the Men of Letter's bunker?" Bobby asked disbelieving.

"Well, if I make it clear enough that the only other place I can go is your house… Which they, by the way, doesn't still know I'm practically living in… Do you think they would let me endanger their dear old pa~?"

"Not that old, you little shit", Bobby muttered. "… You probably would want me to give them a call and convince them to let you in?"

"That would be agreeable, love."

"…Very well, I'll give them a call. There's a bar near their hideout where they could pick you up, since they surely wont want you to know exactly where the bunker is… I'll give you an address. Can you go and wait them there?"

"Certainly, darling… But you don't need to give me addresses; I know where that bar is."

Bobby lifted his eyebrow, even though Fergus couldn't see it. "Oh really?"

Fergus sniggered. "Bobby, every time those to get under my radar, Dean can be spotted on one specific bar in regularly… I can fix my puzzles, dear."

Bobby smiled little on the use of term "dear"… Aziraphale's characteristic endearment wasn't one of Fergus' normal puns, at least not when he was talking with Bobby… there was some real depth in it. "Clever devil… Take care of yourself, there. And keep me informed about your whereabouts, okay? Or I may have to come and squish them out of you by myself…"

"You can squish me any time you want, darling", Fergus purred back.

Bobby blushed again. "Shut it, you…! I'll give the boys a call, now…" _And make sure that they not only take you in, but will also treat you with courtesy_ , he thought.

"Good… Oh, and one more thing – about you contacting me. I sent you two bodyguards; they can also bring messages back and forth."

"Wha- WHAT? Bodyguards?! Fergus, I'm not having damn demons sauntering around in my yard!"

Fergus puffed. "Pfff, who spoke anything about demons…? My little darlings will keep you company, and protect you from all harm that could come to you… Just remember to use the pup when sending me your love letters; it's not as recognizably as the older one…"

"The pup…? Wait, what…?"

Suddenly he could hear it; low growling sound, right behind him…

"Oh, I hear that my darlings have arrived~! Tell them to be good for papa… They're sweethearts, truly, so don't you worry about anything!"

"…Fergus…"

"Growley! Juliet! Remember to behave!" Fergus shouted, and the hellhounds – HELLHOUNDS! In his house! - answered, barking loudly; Bobby imagined them wagging their tails. "See, they're harmless, at least for you… Juliet is younger one, so she's tend to cause some mishap, but they both know to make their spoors outside… As for food, they like their meet raw, and it would be good if you also gave them some carrots and other vegetables – and they both love apples, but please take the seeds of beforehand! And Juliet has this craving for mangos, but don't give her too much of those, her tummy might get upset…"

One of the Hellhounds – Juliet? They had collars, which was good since now Bobby at least could see where they were, but he hadn't get around to read the nametags, yet – came closer, and Bobby went stiff, but then he felt very warm, wet tongue against his hand. "She's licking me", he said, stunned.

"Juliet is very affective, as you can see… Growley is more reserved, at first, but he will get around – don't be surprised if he stick close to you, he takes his jobs seriously."

"Their job? And what is that, precisely?" Bobby had started to scratch Juliet behind her ears, and he could hear her tail thumping against floorboards as she wagged it.

"Guard", Fergus answered, simply. "I know, it's little basic, but they're still _dogs_ ; you can't really give them very complicated orders."

"Yeah, right…" Bobby answered, absentmindedly. _I've got hellhounds droll in my floor… Is this what my life has became?_ "I'll… I'll make that phone call, now. You better watch your back, there."

"Sure, sure… And you should take a good care of our babies, too!"

"Our… What-!?"

Fergus sniggered. "Farewell, darling~!" he said, making some kissy noises before the line went silent.

Bobby sighed and scratched his neck; beside him, Juliet yipped happily, and Growley seemed to be laying down.

"Right… I'll make one other call, and then I suppose I should feed you two… I'm already having two hellhounds in my house, let's not make it two _hungry_ ones!"

Juliet barked and started to lick his hand again, wanting more attention; Growley only huffed, like he was feeling embarrassed for younger one's sake.

"Yeah… And now: Quiet! I'm not going to try explain this, too…"


	16. The Devil You Know

Dean's day wasn't starting very promisingly.

His bad luck started when he went to kitchen and decided that his favourite cereals would make the perfect breakfast, only to find out that there was no milk in the fridge. Nor jam, as he also noticed after fixing up some toast.

"Damn you, Crowley", Dean muttered darkly.

"And good morning to you, too, handsome."

 _Speak to the devil…,_ Dean thought and turned around. Crowley sauntered in the kitchen as relaxed as if owned it, wearing one of Sam's t-shirts – _only_ a t-shirt. Luckily, it was big enough for him to spare Dean from seeing the demons private areas, but the sight still made him put a hand over his eyes. "Not cool, dude! Never heard about underwear?"

"Heard about them? Yes. Never seen any point of using them, though…"

"I can tell you some!"

Crowley sniggered. "Don't be such an sourpuss, Dean."

"What do you want, anyway? I know you already eat your breakfast – seriously, man, how early you woke up?"

"Early demon catches soul", Crowley answered offhandedly. "Actually, I came to tell you that some of us should do little shopping. Currently, we are out of milk, tomatoes, lettuce, jam, tea, sugar…"

"Hold it, hold it!" Dean said, raising his hand. "What you mean, out of tea? I just saw a whole punch of it in the cupboard."

Crowley made a sour face. "A real tea, something meant for human consummation. _Not_ a dishwater." That description of Sam's favourite beverage made Dean snort. "I would also remind that we are out of good liquor, but considering who I'm talking to, you probably don't see it like a problem."

"Very well, I'll do some shopping."

"I'll come with you", Crowley added.

"What? No!"

Crowley crossed his arms over his chest – which made his shirt rise a bit, which, in turn, made Dean start to panic – and said with a severe voice, "I don't believe in your taste, Winchester. I need tea, and if I won't have some, SOON, I won't be happy. At all. And when I'M not happy, that means that someone else is soon VERY unhappy."

"Having a period, huh? Okay, you know, what ever, as soon as you put on some pants, please!"

Crowley smirked ferally. "As long as we're on the same page", he said and left the kitchen, passing Sam who he greeted by nodding and saying, "Not-Dean", before vanishing on sight. _Hopefully, he will be fully clothed when he returns_ , Dean thought.

"Was – was Crowley wearing my shirt? Without any pants?!" Sam asked, and his look of bewilderment almost made Dean feel better about this; almost.

"Yup. We're going to shop some food, do you need something? Crowley has it pretty much covered, though."

"No, I don't need anything – But are you sure this is wise? To take Crowley with you, I mean. With Abaddon out there, it could cause you some serious problems…"

"Well, it's not like it was my idea; besides, his demonic arse has been staying cramped in here almost two weeks already, I think he just wants some fresh air."

Sam lifted his eyebrow. "And you're caring about that… Why, exactly?"

Dean shrugged. "Hey, we kind of yanked the rug off under his feet by setting Abaddon free, remember? We owe him something."

"Yes, but it's not like he hasn't done any double-crossings for us, before", Sam reminded him.

"What, you think he would trade me to Abaddon to safe his own hide? Yeah, that would work out just perfectly for him, wouldn't it…"

Sam sighed. "I just want you to stay on your guard; even if he's behaving himself right now, his still a demon. He's no different than Abaddon."

Dean anted to make some comment on that; yes, Crowley was a demon, and he always cared first and foremost about his own hide, but there was more in him than just that. Crowley had honor, even if it was little twisted kind of it, and while being the king of Hell, he'd kept it on control. Abaddon was completely different can of worms, of that Dean was sure, but telling it to Sam wouldn't help hiss case at all.

The problem was, that Dean kind of _liked_ Crowley's company, as long as he wasn't being a total bastard, and Sam didn't seem to like it _at all_.

It wasn't like Dean had been jumping with joy after Bobby had called and practically told them – not even asked, TOLD – that they would pick up Crowley and let him live with them in the bunker until this whole mess with Abaddon would be over. What made the case even worse was that Bobby denied their plea to keep Crowley in the basement and even made them promise to give him a own room and free exit to common areas.

The brothers were sure that their whole life would now on be a hell.

And for a first few days, it had been. Crowley was irritated and took his time to share this irritation by irritating Dean and Sam till they were ready to snap.

Then Castiel had came to visit them, and to Dean's surprise, the angel took Crowley's snark with an ease and seemed even made him to calm down, a bit. There was something between them that could almost be called fondness, and Dean had started to think there there must be more behind their shared familiarity than the time when they worked together to open the Purgatory.

Of course, after seeing him being so alarmingly friendly with the demon, Dean had been worried about Castiel (worried as a friend, as he told to himself; not jealous, why would he be jealous, that was just stupid…), and started to keep eye on them every time he saw them together. Most of the time, it was total waste of time; the two of them were basically just bantering around. What really hit the home was, when Dean stopped to listen _what_ they said and instead focused on listening _how_ they said it. The fun thing was, that it sounded very familiar; the demon and the angel acted a lot alike Sam and he did.

 _It's like they were brothers_ , Dean thought. Suddenly Dean had got the idea that, despite of his words, Castiel hadn't came to see how they were dealing with Crowley in their nest, but actually came to see how _Crowley_ was dealing, in general.

That had been an eye-opener, since that made it clear that Castiel _cared_ about Crowley's well-being, and Dean had a hard time to even begin to question, why? Why should he care about the demon? He had to know, and after Castiel had left, he decided to continue to keeping eye on Crowley.

By that time, Crowley had already let most of his fumes out, and though he continued being spiteful with his comments whenever he decided to open his mouth to speak at them, he mostly spent time on his own devices, reading tomes in the library or watching TV (soap operas? Really, man?). He seemed to be at ease, but there were moments when Dean had seem him just sitting there, staring at the wall, and looking just _so damn lonely_. Of course, it never lasted long before the demon suddenly stood up and stomped into his room, slamming doors as he went.

Dean didn't consider himself as a good person – there were little too many skeletons in his closet for that – but at least he could still though himself as a _decent_ person; and as a decent person, he could feel a little sympathy towards their sometimes-enemy-sometimes-ally. It mustn't be easy for someone with an as big ego as Crowley fall on the bottom of the pit after spending so much time to climb on the top at the first place.

So, one evening when Crowley had once again been wasting his time in front of the TV, Dean had walked in and sat down beside him. The demon had shot him a quick look, but didn't say anything and had soon resumed back to watching his show.

"Sooooo… What are you watching?"

The demon had looked back at him, lifting his eyebrow, before shrugging. "Some bullshit."

"You don't mind if I change the channel, then?" As the demon had just shrugged again, Dean had started to flick thorough the channels until he had found something little less teeth-rotting than what Crowley had been looking earlier.

After that, no words had been shared; they had just sat there, watching the show in what could only been recalled as a comfortable silence, until Dean finally stood up, gave his "good night" greetings and left Crowley into his own devices. When he had turned to look back before exiting the room, he could have sworn that the demon had seemed little more relaxed than before. And damn, why had that made him felt like he should have done that before?

Then on, Dean had made it's his mission to spend some time with Crowley in daily basis: watching TV, talking a bit, maybe sharing few drinks (and though Crowley complained about the quality of their beer, he never refused to take one, either). At first, it had been mostly just to ease his feeling of guilt, but then he had started to think that Crowley was actually kind of good company… as long as he wasn't plotting on their demise, that was.

It wasn't like all was just rainbows and unicorns, but little by little Crowley had started to feel little less like unwanted subtenant and a little more like a quirky, if not little volatile, roommate – At least, that was Dean's point of view; Sam clearly wasn't going to give the demon any benefit of doubt.

And that leaded Dean back to the current situation, AKA standing in the kitchen and facing Sam, who had crossed his arms over his chest and was now giving his bother _the look_. The look said, "We don't trust demons; don't you remember what happened with Ruby?", and that was kind of rich, considering that it had been _Sam_ who had trusted the bitch, and not Dean. _But then again, if I mess up, it's all my fault; if Sam messes up, it's_ our _fault_. And of course it was unfair to think so, but honestly…

Instead of saying anything about that, Dean pointed out, "Bobby asked us to make him feel welcome."

"If it _was_ Bobby."

"Paranoid, much? We performed exorcise thorough the phone, I think that's enough evidence to know that he wasn't being possessed."

"That doesn't mean that Crowley couldn't have used any other methods to coerce him", Sam reminded.

"Bobby? Being coerced into something? Yeah, right…"

Sam smiled wryly. "Okay, that's unlikely. But still, I don't like the idea of you two leaving the bunker alone; even if Crowley is – for once – being honest, his still Hell's most wanted."

Dean shrugged. "So, your coming too?"

Sam nodded. "That would be best, I think…"

"Oh, goodie! The more, the merrier!"

Crowley had returned, now again wearing his customary suit. Dean remembered his comment considering underwear, or how pointless he thought they were, and then decided wisely to not think deeper on it.

"Okay, let's make this caravan move…"

When they went to the baby, Crowley was on the front-seat before anyone could say a word. Sam looked at Dean, who only shrugged and took his own seat behind the wheel, leaving little grumpy Sam to stuff himself on the backseat.

And if Crowley's smirk was little too smug for that, Dean decided to not address that; after all, it was rather brief pay-back.


	17. Do You Love Me?

"It's been silent here, nowadays."

"Oh, are you possibly missing poor old me?"

"Tch. As if. Only thing I'm missing is your cooking. Feels like I'm starting to loose weight…"

"You should still eat properly, even if I'm not there to look after you… Honestly, how have you survived this long?"

Bobby smiled and scratched Juliet's head; the hellhound had came running as soon as she had heard her "papa's" voice from the other end of line. "Hey, micro-meals aren't actually poisoned, you know… At least, as long as they aren't made by Leviathans…"

He could almost sense Fergus' irritation float from the cell in his ear. "Oh? I wouldn't be so sure about that… I dearly hope that you haven't been feeding that garbage to my little darlings!"

Bobby lifted his eyebrow. "Your "little" darlings?" he asked, feeling amused.

"You know what I mean!"

The old hunter shook his head and put the phone in front of Juliet's nose – at least, where he assumed that her nose was – and said, "Tell you papa that I'm not mistreating you."

Juliet barked happily, her tail (possibly) wagging, and gave the phone her slobbery doggy-kiss.

"Jeez, thanks", Bobby muttered, and lightly tapped her snout. "You heard that? Babies are all right!"

"You make an excellent daddy", Fergus answered, now again on good mood. Bobby shook his head; his demon had more mood-swings than an average woman did while being pregnant.

Of course, he would never say that out loud.

"How is it going, in the bunker? I got an idea that things may be go little bit smoother now, since Dean passed his phone to you without spouting latin at me beforehand."

"Oh, Dean's been true gentleman, I swear… Moose still doesn't seem to like me all that much – for whatever reason."

"I think we can both think up few… But he leaves you alone?"

"Yes; You know, it's adorable when you're being all protective over me~!"

Bobby felt his face go heated. "What if I am? Not that I am, of course; but theoretically – you're laughing, aren't you?"

"What ever gave you that idea?" Fergus snickered.

"You little ass-hole", Bobby grumbled fondly.

"Oh, I so love all those little endearments of yours… Been thinking a lot about my ass-hole lately, havent you?"

"Fergus…!" Bobby warned.

"Fine, fine…"

Bobby took a large breath. _Concentrate,_ he scolded himself, _There's a reason why you wanted to talk him over phone and not just sent a message via Juliet…_ Not that he didn't enjoy the opportunity to just actually listen Fergus voice for a some time – for, even if he wasn't going to confess it (for his demon's ego was big enough as it was), but he indeed had missed him. He had gotten used to have a company again, and their life had fallen into a rhythm that had pleased the both of them – and that didn't even cover the kisses they had shared.

The kissing was good, as were all the little touches they'd shared, but more important was just spent time together – watch TV and laugh at the same things, or sat reading in comfortable silence, or cook together…

 _We were actually starting to resemble a married couple..!_

"Bobby? Are you still there…? You didn't drop the phone, or anything?"

"N-No, I'm here", Bobby said quickly. "Listen, Fergus…"

"Funny, I thought that that's exactly what I've been doing here…"

"Please", Bobby added, and he could almost imagine the focused look that Fergus used to give him whenever he used that tone. _Damn, I really do miss him…_ "Look", he said quickly, before he could lost his nerve, "by the way that things were going before you left, it's… it's possible that they will go… further, once you're back."

"One should totally hope", Fergus answered. "We _are_ talking about sex, right?"

"Right", Bobby admitted, feeling relieved that Fergus couldn't see how furiously he was blushing. _You're not teenager anymore, get a grip!_ "The thing is – I'm not into a… casual flings. I'm too old and too set to my antics to change a partner as easily as younger men does…"

"I should hope so!" Fergus giggled.

"So… Is this going to be serious, to you? Because it would be. For me."

So it was said.

Fergus went silent and Bobby hoped that he could see his face. Any normal situation, his demon was pro at hiding his inner musings, but sometimes, when you took him by surprise at the company where he know he didn't need to hold his cover, Fergus' face could tell a lot about what was going on inside his mind.

"Well, it's not like I'm planning to go and cheat you as soon as I finally get into your pants", Fergus finally said, with a feigned cheerfulness.

"That's not what I meant and you know that", Bobby grunted. "Fergus, please take this seriously…"

"I am!" his demon hissed back. "We've already established that I found your company pleasing, that I've no meaning to cheat, hurt, or kill you, and that I would like to finally get into serious business! _Just what more you're_ _expecting me to say?!_ "

"Do you love me?" Now, he certainly hadn't meant to bring it up like _that_ … but it was too late to back off anymore, so all he could do was continue: "Because I… Dammit, Fergus – I think I do… love you."

The silence from the other end of the line was worrying. Why couldn't Fergus just laugh it off, or mock him with some smart-ass comment, or yell at him? All of those would be better than this completely silence…

"…Fergus?"

"I should return this phone to Dean", the demon answered, his voice monotone; Bobby couldn't read anything from it. "I'll be on touch", he added, as afterthought.

"Wait, wait! Forget I asked anything. You don't need to answer to that, just don't -"

beeb beeb beeb

"- end the call. Dammit!" Bobby swore, and managed to not throw his phone on the wall just by reminding himself that he wasn't impulsive teenager anymore.

Juliet whined, questioningly, and he could hear Growley rising on its feet, ready to battle if needed.

"It's okay, guys", Bobby sighed, and patted Juliet's head. "Your papa just… He needs time to think." _Or so I hope… He could also be plotting my demise, as far as I know._

Bobby sighed again. "I need a drink", he grumbled, and walked to kitchen, only to stop staring at the apron that had fallen on the floor at same point of the day. It was black, and there was text KISS THE COOK written on front of it, paired with an direction arrow that pointed downwards. He remembered seeing Fergus to use it at the first time, and how he hadn't known if he should laugh or kick the little smart-ass out of his house. He had ended at thwacking him – rather gently – on the head, which had made Fergus whine a bit, but he had finished the meal and they had ate and then went to sit on the porch and his demon had told him a funny little story about something that had happened when his father had taken him to theater at the first time, and how he hadn't really listened since all he could focus on had been Fergus' mouth…

Bobby smiled little wistfully as he picked up the apron and put it back to its proper place.

 _I certainly hope I didn't just ruin this all…_

* * *

Fergus found a little difficulty when he tried to sort out what he was feeling, at the moment. Most of it was frustration (Why did he have to ask that? Wasn't it all going well, just as it was?). Next came weariness (What if he doesn't want to spent time with me anymore, if I can't answer his feelings?). Anger was easy (He's being totally unfair! I'm a demon; I can't feel love!).

 _Father does_ , reminded that little sound inside his head that sometimes sounded like Aziraphale, but now resembled him more of Castiel.

 _Well, father is a special case, in all means._

 _And you're just an average demon, then?_ Castiel the voice of reason (and was that just strange idea!) commented. _You still own part of your soul, preserved and un-mutilated. Soul, that's able to feel all kinds of feelings…_

 _Which I, being the demon I am, cannot even access!_

 _Not as a demon, no…_

 _And what's that supposed to mean?!_

His silent conversation with imaginary-Castiel/his own subconscious was interrupted by Dean, who choose that precise moment to knock on his door. "Are you still talking? Fergus, I need my phone!"

"Yes, yes", Fergus muttered, and opened his door, offering Dean his phone.

The hunter stopped and took a close look at the demon's face. "Hey, are you – You look little put out, man."

"Thanks", Fergus sniffed haughtily and went to close his door, only to be stopped by Dean. He sighed dramatically. "As much as I know you miss my company, Squirrel, I would really like to spend some time by myself."

Dean nodded. "Okay, that proof's it: What's the matter, man?" Then he smirked. "Did you and Bobby have a fight? Troubles in paradise, eh?" As Fergus just kept glaring draggers at him, Dean's eyes went wide as saucers. "No way – are you and Bobby-?"

"NOTHING!" Fergus roared. "We are nothing, and with things like this, that all we'll ever be, since clearly he wants to settle down and life this middle-aged men's romance fantasy and surely there's no place in that for a demon who doesn't even know what love _feels_ like!"

Screaming felt good; it made him think less about that desperate tone in Bobby's voice as the old hunter asked him to not cut the call…

Dean stared at him. "Wow. Just… give me a little time to think this through…" he rubbed his temples. "You and Bobby had a thing – or something that could have become a thing – and now you're freaking out because you think that you _cannot feel love?_ "

"I know I can't! I'm a demon, remember?!" Fergus hissed.

"Well, for someone who doesn't "love", you certainly seem to care a lot about it!"

"Why do you even care, Squirrel? Shouldn't you be telling me to stay off your "daddy", or tossing me around to make me spill out what I've done to convince him into this?!"

Dean seemed little thrown back at that, but he recovered quickly. "It's only for practical reasons", he claimed. "We need you to get rid of Abaddon –"

"And who we should blame for that maniac walking around, hmmm? Whose bright idea it was to first dig her up and then leave her without any SURVELLANCE at all?!"

"Hey, we were interrupted, okay?! And we had a plan –"

"Oh yes, that grand idea of "curing "demons instead of…" Fergus brains slammed on the brakes. Wait, wait; That… that could actually work. Of course, it meant to give the Winchesters little too much power over him that was ideal, but if it worked… If he could be cured just enough to be able to unite with his soul, even the littlest time…

Then he would _know_.

"…Say, Squirrel", Fergus said, suddenly very jovial tone, "about that cure… Did you get any change to demonstrate it _afterwards_ …?"

Dean raised his brown suspiciously. "We've been kind of busy, Crowley."

Fergus smiled at him; it wasn't very soothing sight. "Well, as you know… You _do_ have a demon living with you, right now…"

* * *

 **Notes:**

I made some MINOR **editing** on the chapter 1, to fix few continuation problems; the chapter actually happens during the 17th chapter of my another story, The Unholy Family.


	18. Curing the Demon and Consequences

"You're saying that we should do what?"

Sam stared at his brother, who looked back little sheepishly. "Well, we had planned to try the ritual to Abaddon, right? So, if Crowley is now volunteering to be our guinea pig, I don't see where the problem is."

"The problem is that that's not the reason you want us to try this in the first place, and you know it", Sam retorted.

Dean expression grew little more defiant. "It's not that I like the idea any more than you do – since it's totally pointless – but it seems to be important to him, so…"

"And since when have we cared about what is important to Crowley?" Sam asked incredulously.

"Ever since he became important to Bobby, I think?" Dean shrugged. "Not that I understand what he sees in that hellspawn, but clearly they miss each other."

Sam massaged his forehead. "And you don't think that we should do something to that…? And not like "let's cure Crowley a little bit so that he knows if he loves Bobby or not", but something sort of, "let's interrogate Crowley till he tells us what he did to Bobby to convince him to have a relationship with a demon"! I mean… Dean, you cannot believe that he's being sincere, here?"

Dean scratched his neck. "Well…"

"You can't be serious…"

"But Bobby's being miserable, too! And Cass vouched that we could trust at Crowley, at least in what comes to Bobby …"

Sam hold up his hand. "Wait. You've talked about this with Castiel?"

"Huh… Yes?"

"When? He hasn't visited us for – weeks, I think, nor has he answered to any of my prayers to do so. He hasn't even called!"

"He's been calling to me."

Sam lifted his eyebrow. "Really? And you didn't think that it was worth of mentioning?"

"It was personal", Dean said stiffly, fighting against a blush.

The corner of Sam's lips curved up into a smirk. "I see."

"Can you stop that? We're not talking about Cass and me here!"

Sam sighed. "I'm not sure, Dean… What if this is some kind of trap?"

"Sam… This is more about _Crowley_ putting his life in _our hands_ that other way around. It's not like he wants to _stop_ being a demon, he just… Wants to be able to _feel_."

"And you think we should help him to do so?"

"Nah, I think he already does… But if he needs this, then I say that we should give it a try."

Sam looked at him searchingly. "It scares me how close you two have became", he confessed.

"It's not… Sam, the dude is practically Cass' big brother figure! Or an irritating younger brother… Anyways, we kind of _need_ to get along in some way."

Sam shook his head. "I still say that this is stupid… But what ever. I'm in."

Dean grinned. "Awesome! I'll go and tell Crowley that he can go and fetch his soul or whatever from wherever he has hidden it…"

"But I'm doing this only because I want to know how that ritual works and if it will be any use for us in the future. I'm also not taking any responsibilities if something goes wrong or if we end up with a completely humanized Crowley in our hands…"

"Yeah, I'll tell him that… Thank you, Sammy!"

Sam watched as his brother went to look for Crowley and hoped that this would not become the newest addition in his long list of regrets.

* * *

Apparently, Crowley couldn't just simply go and fetch his soul. "I can't hold it, braniacs", the demon said. "That's the whole point of doing this in the first place!"

So he sent a message to Castiel; and Cass, who hadn't answered almost any of Sam's calls since the angel and Dean had returned from the purgatory, came right away when _the freaking king of Hell_ needed him. Seriously, what was going on around him? Had the whole world gone mad while Sam wasn't looking? Or was it Sam who was mad, and all of this was just projection of his imagination?

He could also see how Dean and Castiel were kind of dancing around each other's, like they were walking on hot coals. What again was the story behind that?

"We're going a little trip, Feathers", Crowley told at Cass almost as soon as the angel arrived. "There's something I need you to carry for me."

Castiel frowned; at least his trust towards Crowley wasn't blind. "And what is that?"

"My soul."

Castiel looked first bemused, and then alarmed. "What are you planning this time, Fergus?" he asked with a grave voice.

"Nothing dangerous, I swear; I'm just letting the boys there to "cure" me a bit, so that I can hold my soul for a moment, and…" Crowley cut his sentence right there, as if he just realized that he was going to bare himself too much in front of people he probably didn't trust all too much. _Or he's playing it well_ , Sam reminded himself. _No reason to start to trusting him too easily_.

"And what?" Castiel pressed on, tilting his head and looking at Crowley scrutinizingly.

"He wants to know if he loves Bobby", Dean blurted out, earning an angry glare from Crowley.

Castiel seemed little flabbergasted. "What do you mean, if?" he asked from Dean. "I thought it was kind of clear that he does."

"Well, that's what I tried to tell to him, but he's some stubborn bastard", Dean defended himself, and Castiel turned his gaze back to the seething demon.

"Are you helping me or not?" Crowley – well, growled.

Castiel seemed hesitant. "I'm not sure, Fergus… Maybe we should talk with your father and Aziraphale…"

"Absolutely not!"

Castiel frowned. "Why not?"

"Because they will just forbid it! Say that it's too risky, that something might got wrong or I could got killed or –"

"Maybe we should pass it, then."

Crowley's eyes flamed with hellish fire as he glared at Castiel. "You can either come with me, or nor; but I AM doing this, even if I had to drag my damned soul here by myself!"

After that, Castiel clearly relented, since he let his shoulders sag before saying, "If that's what you truly want, then fine. I'll go with you; let's get your soul."

Crowley smirked at him, his earlier rage seemingly forgotten. "Well, that sounds better! Let us go then…"

The pair vanished before brothers' eyes, and Dean turned to look at Sam, smirking too. "What did I say? Clearly brothers!"

Sam just shook his head. What a crazy world he was living in…

* * *

Crowley and Castiel returned at the evening, and so they were ready to began. The demon stepped just a bit hesitantly into the chapel, hovering near Castiel who held a very ordinary looking urn in his hands, that presumably contained a part of Crowley's original soul. The look on the demon's face indicated that even being this close of it caused him some sort of pain, but he still seemed to be reluctant to step any father from it, either. Quick look at Cass was enough to tell Sam that him at least seemed unharmed by it.

"I expected a little more glitter from you", Dean said while looking at the urn, and Crowley huffed at him. "Well, at least you didn't chose a lamp…"

"Very funny", Crowley muttered.

"Are you staying, Cass?" Sam asked from the angel, who in his part turned to look at Dean, and after getting a nod from him, answered, "I think that it would be best. Someone needs to supervise this in case that things take a bad turn. Besides", he continued, glancing at Crowley, " _someone_ has to explain this to his _father_ if something goes wrong, and it's best to be me."

Crowley actually looked little chastised, but that could also be just Sam's imagination. "Nothing goes wrong", he assured. "Enough talking; are we planning to start this anyway soon?" It was clear that Crowley was having a hard time to stay calm. He didn't act overly nervous, but Sam could see that he tidied his cuffs and tie little too often to not be at least little worried of the outcome. That made Sam feel little better; if Crowley wasn't completely sure about this, then maybe he really was being sincere and was really just trying to get clear with his feelings about Bobby.

 _Or he's playing us_ , Sam reminded himself. _Stay focused_. But if it was a play, it was a very convincing one.

"This is going to be painful", he warned. "More mentally than physically, though you will probably have physical pains, too. Are you sure that you want this?"

"Yes, yes; just be sure to stop immediately after I can get hold of my soul."

"Are you sure it can be stopped?" Dean asked.

"All spells can be stopped, Squirrel; the worst that can happen after that is that the effect stops as soon as the spell does", Crowley assured.

"It's not a spell but a ritual that I'm going to perform", Sam reminded.

Crowley shrugged. "It's not that big difference", he said. "So, how do we start?"

* * *

"Are these manacles really necessary?" Crowley asked with disgust after he'd been shackled up on the interrogate chair. "Or is this just some kind of kink of yours?"

Sam sighed. "Those are for safety", he answered.

"Whose? Yours or mine?"

"Both. Now kindly shut up", Sam snapped, and glared at Dean, who had started to chuckle.

Crowley shrugged (as much as he could with a shackle around his neck). "Whats next?"

Sam took out a syringe. "Next I'm, going to inject you with a purified blood…"

Crowley didn't seem very pleased by that. "Whose blood? Yours? Aren't we being little high and mighty, now?"

Sam sighed. "I was purified by confession."

"Besides, it's not like you had any plans to become saint or anything", Dean added.

"True", Crowley admitted, and nodded to Sam. "Proceed."

Sam rolled his eyes but decided to not comment that. "I give you one shot now, and then we wait a hour before next one; it would take eight shot, incantation and my touch to completely cure you, but since you don't want that –"

"Absolutely not!"

"- We will stop as soon as you can hold your soul-urn without being in pain."

"Good. You can start now."

This time, Sam couldn't totally hold his sarcasm, as he complied, "Yes, _your majesty_." Crowley just smirked at him.

* * *

"Are you sure that this is working at all? Since I don't feel any difference", Crowley complained after three hours, when three shots had been given and Sam was getting ready for fourth.

"Maybe because you didn't even need it in the first place", Dean muttered, but Crowley either didn't hear him or didn't care to answer.

"In Father Thompson's record, first visible changes came only after sixth dose", Sam pointed out. "So be patient."

Crowley rolled his eyes.

"Patience isn't one of his key virtues", Castiel admitted.

"I wasn't aware he'd any "virtues" to begin with", Dean pointed out with a smirk.

This time, Crowley actually stuck his tongue out at him. Dean stared at him surprised, before repeating the gesture while giving the demon a long nose.

 _I'm surrounded by kindergarteners_ , Sam thought dejectedly.

* * *

During fifth hour, Sam started to feel little dizzy. _Blood lost_ , he summed, and tried to not show any marks of discomfort to not worry Dean overly. Crowley's attitude had changed, too, as he no longer mocked Sam but had instead gone un-customarily quiet. Castiel had tried to hold the urn containing Crowley's soul near the demon's face, just to see if they had already gone far enough, but Cowley had hissed as if it had burned and told them – rather fiercely – to get the blasted thing away from his face.

"Maybe after second injection", Sam said.

"Can you keep going that long?" Dean asked, showing once again that he was actually far more observant than what he usually seemed to be – especially when it was about Sam.

"Dean, I'm fine. Just a little dizzy."

"Should you eat something? Or drink, at least?"

Sam shook his head. "I'm not sure if it would mess up the whole purification business…"

"Try Holy water", Crowley said suddenly. "Or Sacramental wine, if you have any… It should do no harm."

"Of course", Dean muttered, and took a flask of Holy water they had brought with them (just in case), before stopping and turning to look at Castiel. "What do you say, Cass? Is it save to give him this?"

Castiel nodded slowly. "It shouldn't do any harm to either Sam or the ritual…" But his eyes were on Crowley.

Dean shrugged and offered the flask to Sam. "Drink it."

Sam was still unsure. "I don't know…" he said, and looked at Crowley. "I mean, won't it harm you – if I inject my blood in you after drinking Holy water? This is like acid to your kind, after all…"

The demon made a little awkward shrug. "Probably." As Sam just stared at him, Crowley snapped, "It's not like you're any help for me if you pass out Moose!"

Finally, because Crowley's words made sense – and because the look on Dean's face indicated that there was no way for Sam to talk himself out of this – he took the flask and started to drink, first few slow gulps and then the rest of it with hurry, as his body got reminded of how good it felt to have liquid inside of it.

"Now sat down for a while", Dean commanded. "It's still half an hour before the next shot." The look he shot at Crowley was dark, as if he'd really wanted to just call it quits but didn't know how to do so without backing off his words.

The demon himself looked nervous by that, like he really felt little guilty of Sam's condition, and suddenly Sam realized that it was working; Crowley never had felt guilty about anything he had done to them before.

"It's okay, Dean", he promised. "I'm already feeling little better."

Dean looked at him and quirked his eyebrow. "Are you sure about that, Sammy? Because you look pale."

"I'm sure. It will only take one or two injections more anyways, three at most; and I think that the second one will be the groundbreaker."

* * *

Sixth injection was given in time, and Sam could felt Crowley squirming a bit; it was quite possible that the Holy water gave him some pain, after all.

"Let's try the urn", the demon grunted out.

"You sure?" Dean asked.

"Just… just do it", the demon said, and Sam was surprised how… defeated he sounded. Like he'd stopped believing that this would work anyways.

 _Is it because the cure?_ Sam wondered. _Does he think he has been corrupted too far to deserve redemption?_

Castiel walked closer, holding out the urn towards Crowley, ready to pull back if the demon didn't react too well –

– and then, suddenly, the cracking sound was heard – like porcelain cup had gotten broken…

Or an urn.

The urn in Castiel's hands had break in half, releasing the soul that had help captive inside of it for so long. The soul took a form of a pulsing ball of sickly-white, dimly glowing light, that flowed few circles around them before like it was trying to gather it's bearings, before it went in front of Crowley – and flood inside of him, through his mouth, his nose, his ears…

"Oh shit", Dean exclaimed, eyes wide, and Sam couldn't have put that any better. _Shit, indeed._

Crowley's eyes were wide and wild, and he trashed around in his chains, making the whole chair to fall down. Castiel rushed towards him, only to be caught by Dean. "No, wait! We don't go what's happening!"

" _I_ know what's happening! " Castiel hissed back. "His soul has returned in his body! He's in pain, Dean!"

That much became clear as soon as Crowley started to scream.

"I knew this was a bad idea", Sam yelled of frustration, and crouched down beside Crowley, shaking his shoulders. "Snap out of it! Crowley!"

"Continue the ritual!" Castiel ordered behind him, still held back by Dean. "Skip the rest of the injections, go straight to the incantation!"

"But that's for curing him into a human!" Dean reminded. "He never wanted to go that far!"

"What he wants isn't important in this point! Dean, he's in pain, _he may die!_ I take the responsibility; Sam, please, continue!"

Sam shared a hurried look with Dean, but since neither of them know what to else to do, and since Crowley couldn't stop screaming like his something was eating him alive from inside out, Dean finally nodded him. "Do it, Sammy."

Sam sliced his hand and pressed it against Crowley's face; it took some power, since the demon kept trashing and turning his head around, but with some difficulty he managed to hold his hand over his face long enough to say the incantation: " _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus. Hanc animam redintegra, lustra! Lustra!_ "

White light engulfed them, almost blinding Sam; he kept his hold over Crowley, and could felt his trashing starting to cease, before he suddenly went limb.

 _Don't you die on my hands, you selfish bastard!_ Sam thought furiously. _You won't get to make us all feel responsible of you demise…!_

"…Sam? Sammy!" Dean shouted somewhere behind them. Sam blinked his eyes, trying to sharpen his gaze. "What was that light? Damnit, Sam, are you okay?"

"I'm fine!" Sam shouted back. "Nothing wrong with me; Crowley went quiet, I think he's unconscious."

Blurred movement on his said, and suddenly Sam could see Castiel crouching opposite of him, checking Crowley's pulse (or something – did demon have a pulse? He couldn't remember...). Probably the angel found what was looking for, since he sighed of relief. "Oh, you stubborn fool", he muttered. "Dean, help me; let's open his chains…"

"Did it… work?" Dean asked, as he joined them on the floor. "Is he – _what_ is he? A demon? Human?"

Castiel shook his head while massaging Crowley's wrists. "Neither; he's a Nephilim, now - as he always should have been…"

"Wow…"

"Is that a… bad thing?" Sam asked, feeling some responsibility over the situation. It'd been his blood, after all.

"I… I don't know", Castiel admitted, biting his lip.

"You don't know?!" Dean exclaimed.

"Nephilim's are children born from a liaison between angels and mortals; normally, when such a child is born, they're… deemed as dangerous abominations, and… destroyed", Castiel explained.

"So it is bad?" Sam summed.

"I've come to see that Heaven's decisions aren't always the wisest one; besides, Fergus already lived one life on the face of earth as a Nephilim, even without knowing it… and after selling his soul, was made into a demon by his father mostly to hide that fact. I doubt that this changes him a lot…"

"Okay… So why is he out of could?" Dean questioned and poked Crowley between his ribs.

"Taking his soul back while still in his corrupted demonic state damaged him a lot; both his body and _especially_ his soul needs time to recover, and so his body forced itself into a coma-like state. That has happened to me, before; we really should get him back to his room…"

"Could be wise… Should we also give a call to mister sunglasses and the chubby angel?"

Castiel frowned to show that he wasn't very pleased with Dean's nicknames to his brother and Crowley's father, but nodded anyway. "I'll do that; as soon as Crowley is safely in his bed." He looked at the ex-demon's face with a worried frustration. "Of all your reckless ideas… I hope that Bobby understands to appreciate your gesture, or I'll be forced to roast him…"

Dean shot a look at Sam and quirked his eyebrow; Sam sighed but nodded for admittance.

 _Clearly brothers, indeed!_


	19. To Be Continued (Epilogue of Sorts)

Bobby was having nice evening; can of beer, a damn good book and two dogs cuddling against him – so, they were Hellhounds, but as long as it barks, wags its tail and drools, it's still a dog and that's settled.

He was just starting to relax when he suddenly felt Growley raising his head from where he had rested it against Bobby's thigh, and soon after Juliet let out soft whine.

"What's the matter, guys? Is someone coming?"

He felt Growley standing up and heard him pattering across the room, before returning with his phone in his mouth; well, at Bobby's point of view, the phone was more like levitating to him, only now wet with drool.

"Sheesh, thanks… Now what do you want, boy? Who am I supposed to call?"

Then he felt Juliet jumping down and rushing out of the room, and then loud CRASH. Standing up himself and following her trail (Growley on his heel), Bobby went to kitchen only to see that his back door was in pieces. "WHAT THE-!? Juliet!"

He heard no answer.

Bobby turned back to where he at least thought that Growley might be standing. "What's up with you two? Where did she run to?"

Growley nuzzled his hand still holding the phone.

"Call? To whom? Only person I am supposed to call should be your owner, so that he can roast me for letting his precious pet to –"

His rant was interrupted by Growley barking loudly and licking his hand; he was sure that if the Hellhound could talk, he would be saying him something like, _see, you got it! Good hairless monkey!_

"You want me to call Fergus?"

Growley barked again, and Bobby could hear his tail thumping against the ground as he wagged it. _You deserve a cookie!_

"So why did Juliet…" Bobby's eyes went wide as new thought came to his mind. "He isn't in danger, is he?"

Growley whined and nuzzled his hand again. _Enough talking!_

"He's better not be doing anything stupid", Bobby muttered as he looked for Dean's number and pressed 'call'-button.

Dean answered immediately. "Ah, Bobby! Nice to hear about you! You, uh, doing well, are you?"

Bobby frowned. "Pass the phone to Crowley, Dean."

Line went silent, and then he heard muffled noises as if two persons were having a conversation. Well, this wasn't sounding good, now…

"Dean? DEAN! Stop playing around and get Fergus on the damn phone!"

Rustling sounds, and then he heard Dean again. "Um. You could call again later…?"

That was the last straw. "Dean Winchester! You better start explaining yourself right away, or-!"

"It wasn't my fault! He wanted to do it, and I said it was stupid, but he just kept whining about how he "doesn't know what love is", and I gave up and Sam performed the ritual, but it wasn't his fault either since the urn broke up and now he's unconscious and –"

Bobby felt like something cold was suddenly squeezing his heart; Dean hadn't talked to him like this after he'd broken his window when the boy had been ten years old. _This is going to be bad…_ "Dean… Dean… DEAN! I haven't a slightest idea what you're babbling about! What did you idjits do this time?"

Dean took a deep breath. "Crowley wanted us to perform Demon Curing Ritual on him. We weren't supposed to go all the way, but then the urn containing the untainted part of his soul broke up, and it… went inside of him; he was in pain, and Castiel made Sam finish the trial, but then he fell unconscious and hasn't woken up yet."

Bobby had to support himself against the wall; Growley pressed his massive body against the hunter, and reached up to lick his chin.

"…Bobby? Are you there?"

"I'm coming over", the old hunter said with a voice that accepted no arguments. "I'll be there as soon as possible. And by the way, Fergus Hellhound Juliet ran out, so she's probably there any minute now. You better let the girl in", he said with threatening voice, "She's probably sick with worry over her _papa_."

Having no time for more prattle, Bobby shut the phone and went to grab his keys. "Come on then, boy… Let's go to see in what kind of trouble your owner has gotten himself this time!"

With a loud bark, Growley followed him out of the door.


End file.
